CHAPTER XXVIII
ESCAPE
Sunia awaited her--Sunia, with eyes that seemed to entreat, toexpect--to listen breathless for some tidings.
For the first few minutes Olwen sat where she had flung herself, in herchair beside the hearth, fighting for the control she knew to be sonecessary if she were to carry out the purpose taking shape within her.
First she was inclined to announce that she would not go down to supper.On reflection she thought it would look better if she were to dressquietly, as though nothing had happened, allow Sunia to leave her, andthen be, as it were, suddenly obliged to undress and go to bed.
She owned, in a low voice, that she was not feeling well, and the ayah,in consequence, tended her with extra gentleness and no words. When shehad hastened away upon her other duties the girl began to considerpossibilities.
It was of no use to ask to be driven to Caryngston, because they wouldsay she was not well enough to travel. She could not post a letter,ordering a fly to be sent, until to-morrow, which meant that she couldnot set out until the day following. It seemed clear that her onlypracticable course would be to descend the mount, walk through the woodsand go to Lachanrigg, where Mrs. Kay would no doubt have her driven toRaefell station, and her homeward journey would be more simple than byway of Picton Bars.
So she sat cogitating, planning by the fireside until, as she hadexpected, the ayah returned to know why she had not come down to supper.She said she had been suddenly taken faint and must lie down, beggingthat no food might be brought to her.
Sunia had her disrobed and between the sheets in a very short time. Shethen departed, returning, as well the girl had expected, with a tray ofappetising fare. Upon the plate lay a note, addressed merely to O. I.
Hoping that Madam had chosen this manner of giving her notice, sheopened it. Then her colour changed. Whatever she had expected, she hadnot been prepared for what she read:
"I can't stand this. I give in. I must tell you everything. That'swhat I've been trying to avoid. I made an attempt to write it down, butin black and white it makes me seem too great a blackguard. How can Isee you alone? Could you come down to the banqueting-hall at sixo'clock to-morrow morning? It won't take long, for I shan't try to makeexcuses. You shall know me for what I am, and then I suppose it will be'Good-bye' for always."
"Nin."
Half stupidly she sat up in bed, staring at the tapestried walls,holding the paper in her shaking hand.
Her trust had been misplaced. Ninian had evidently lied to her when heprofessed his innocence with regard to Lily Martin. Just now, in thedining-room, he said he had told more lies since her coming than in hislife before. Yet on the summit of Duke's Crag he had sworn that he hadtold her nothing but the truth. She could not reconcile it. The onlysaving clause was that he had determined to confess--at last!
Tumultuous thoughts chased each other through her mind.
Did he really care for her? In her heart she believed that he did. Shehad trusted him, and that trust, which he knew to be undeserved, hadmelted him at last. He would not marry her, with this hateful thingbetween them. He meant to tell her ... what?
Strong shuddering seized her. She felt her whole self yearning withlonging unutterable for him--for the merest chance to believe in him.She knew that if he showed her his sweet side she must believe anythinghe told her. Yet, ah! How could she pardon it, if the girl whoattempted suicide were--it must be put in plain language--if she were,as Dr. Balmayne evidently thought, Ninian Guyse's discarded mistress?
She must not, would not love such an one as he must be, if this were theatrocious truth.
How her words of defence, her assertion of faith in him, must have cuthim to the heart! He had left the room and the house precipitately. Hehad wandered about, trying to make up his mind; he had been suddenlyconfronted with the sight of her--alone--and had intended flight. Thatnot being practicable, he had turned to his usual weapon, derisiveflippancy.
Having hurt her more deeply than he intended, he had at last come to adecision to make a clean breast of it.
Such was the situation as she saw it. How to grapple with it was thepoint upon which all her energies were directed.
It came to her soon, as with a flash of illumination, that at no costmust she allow Ninian to give her the explanation he desired. Herweakness where he was concerned was too abject. She was in his hands.The one thing she craved was to be in his arms. If he dropped his rudeflippancy, if he pleaded, she well knew there was in her no force toresist him....
In the extremity of her mental distress she loathed herself for herweakness, yet acknowledged the man's power.
She wondered whether, after all, Madam was the best judge of her ownson, and whether this knowledge was the cause of her anxiety to get himmarried, even to so poor a match as Olwen Innes. She must know, orsuspect, the worst. Her opinion of Ninian, as the girl had seen fromthe first, was anything but high--was, in fact, what it must be, grantedthe truth of this ugly story.
... And she, little fool, wanted him, loved him, longed for him withevery pulse she possessed. So strong was the rush of her feeling thatshe felt she dare not see him, dare not meet him, even in the presenceof others, for a single moment more. If she decided to renounce him, itmust be done forthwith; and her better self had so decided.
How to accomplish her flight was now the question.
As has been said, the top floor of the Pele, like the others, wasdivided into rooms. Of these there were three, the remaining quarter,entered from the stairs, being a receptacle for spare articles, a kindof landing. This landing formed the south-east quarter, Olwen's roomopening from it, being the south-west. Sunia's room was the north-west,next Olwen's; and from the way she would emerge thence, bearing trays oftea and so on, the girl had always suspected that on that side of thetower there was another newel stair. This reflection now gave her anidea. Knowing herself to be safe from observation for the moment, shesprang out of bed and went to reconnoitre. It was as she had supposed.In the corner of the ayah's room was a little door, set slanting, andwithin was a stair not quite like the one in general use, for it wasenclosed in a circular corner turret, and she knew it must go straightdown to the ground floor, and no doubt communicated with the kitchen bya passage in the thickness of the wall.
By this stair she could go, so she believed, right out upon the narrowwalk which edged the tower upon its precipitous side. The door belowwas not likely to be locked from without. The key would almostcertainly be in it. If she waited until all were in bed she might thusget away with ease. The difficulty was that she could not enter Sunia'sroom when its owner was there without being heard.
With the thought that there might be some small chamber in the wallwhere she might lurk until the woman came up to bed, she slipped downthe dark corkscrew, descended past the next landing, and reached thefirst floor. Here were two doors, one leading into a passage and oneinto the Priest's Room.
This was the place. She must dress herself warmly, creep down thestairs, leaving her own room locked behind her, hide in the Priest'sRoom, wait until the house was quiet, and then simply let herself out.
Hurriedly reascending, she set about her preparations, putting whatlittle money she had into a small handbag, with one or two necessaries.In order completely to reassure Sunia, she wrote a note to Ninian, putit in an envelope, and sealed it elaborately. It contained only thesewords:
"I will come to-morrow morning if I can.--O. I."
When Sunia came to take away her supper tray Miss Innes gave her thisnote, impressing upon her the necessity of delivering it quite unseen byanybody else. The ayah undertook the commission with beaming smiles.Was not this intrigue--the very air in which she flourished? She would,in return, have done anything that Olwen chose to command; and whenordered not to come in again, but to leave the invalid undisturbed untilmorning, she cheerfully consented.
It seemed t
o the over-excited girl a long time before everything wasarranged finally for the night--a supply of bed-candles near at hand,Brand's extract and Horlick lozenges in case of hunger in the darkhours, the fire built up as only Sunia could build it, a kettle full ofhot water in case her bottle needed replenishment.
Was not any girl a fool to leave such luxury? Was she going to fleewhen Ninian's love awaited her? Just because he had behaved badly toanother girl, who, if her portrait were to be trusted, was distinctly aminx?
Yet words would ring in her head, words learned when a child in theschoolroom--"Haste, for thy life escape, nor look behind!"
As soon as she felt sure that Sunia had gone down to her own supper shearose and dressed herself with the greatest haste, all but her thickboots. These she carried in her hand, wearing her felt bedroom slippersthat she might make no noise upon the stone steps.
Warmly wrapped, she crept out into Sunia's room, locking her door behindher and taking away the key. Very softly she descended two floors,opened the little door and emerged into the Priest's Room.
In the pitch darkness a very narrow thread of light was visible belowthe door which opened into the banqueting-hall. She sat down, hardlydaring at first to breathe, upon an old arm-chair which she and Ninianhad stored away there when rearranging the room. She began to wonderhow she would know when the ayah came up to bed; for it was quitepossible that she might not come up this way at all, since she couldreach her own quarters through the third room upon the top landing, aroom intended for another servant should the dwellers in the Pele employone.
There was a youngish moon near its setting. Olwen gazed from the windowand noted a curious fact. The light from the Pele windows was flungright across the valley, and made little squares of radiance upon theblack trees on which it fell. There was the pattern of the oriel, quitebig and bright. There, too, was the dining-room below it, extinguishedeven as she gazed. Presently, about half an hour after the beginning ofher vigil, the little glimmer at the very top. That was Sunia. Yes,there was another patch, which was Madam's window. To watch them becomedark was amusing.
But, although these darkened most satisfactorily, the oriel in thebanqueting-hall remained lit up. This was awkward. Somebody was stillawake, still sitting up in the Pele. If she began to move about, wouldnot she be heard? Could she leave the Priest's Room, close the doorbehind her, descend the stairs, unlock the door below and shut it againwithout some unwonted stir penetrating to the ear of the watcher?
If it was Ninian, as she thought most likely, Daff would be with him,and she dare not risk attracting Daff's attention.
Her eyes, fixed upon the far-flung square of light, saw a shadow flitslowly from side to side. It must be Ninian, and he was pacingrestlessly to and fro. The longing to push open the door of herhiding-place and emerge,--to run to him and forget everything in thestronghold of his arms, was hard to master. She closed her eyes thatshe might not see the weary pacing.
There was nothing for it but to wait until he went upstairs. She wasvery sleepy, the arm-chair was comfortable, the night not very cold.She slipped into slumber.
When she awoke it was with a start. She was cramped and chilly, and atfirst wondered where she was and what had happened. It was notaltogether reassuring when she recollected that she was in the Priest'sRoom. She gazed from the window. The light was extinguished in theoriel, and everywhere else. The moon had also set, which made it a verydark night for her expedition. She had hidden a box of matches in herbag, and she ventured to strike one. To her horror she found that itwas a quarter to four. However, it could not be helped. Having got sofar, she meant to carry out her plan, and she hastened downstairs, lacedher boots, and before long found herself out in the cold dark hourbefore the dawn. Instantly she made the disagreeable discovery that ithad again begun to rain. She had no umbrella, but was warmly clad, andas soon as she was under the trees she was sheltered. It was wet andnot at all easy going, but she held on, knowing that the descent was notreally very long, and that as soon as she was in the larger path towhich it led down she would make much easier progress.
She would hardly have credited the difficulty of threading one's wayalong a path among trees in the pitch dark. If once she left the trackshe felt that she would never regain it. When at last she stood uponthe wet, dark leaves which thickly carpeted the main path along whichshe must turn to her right, she felt that the worst was over.
The rain was to be regretted, for she was not yet quite well. However,she comforted herself by reflecting that Dr. Balmayne had said she mightgo home on Thursday, and this was almost Thursday. She struggled alongpretty boldly for some time, listening to the rush of the unseen riverbelow her on her left hand. It had been fast bound in frost when firstshe came. Now its song was loud and clear; and when at last she reachedthe lower level of the meadows she found that her path was under water.
This was quite unlooked for. She dare not risk stepping through waterof unknown depth in the dark, so she struck up the hill-side to herright. After going up some distance she found a track which seemed togo in the right direction, and this she followed until she was extremelytired. In her remembrance of the way, the woods ended after about twomiles, and you crossed open meadows to the farm. She felt sure she hadwalked considerably more than two miles, and the woods were still thickabout her. In one way this was good, for it kept her dry. But shebegan to think that she had better not go on too far without knowingwhere she was. She had little choice, however. To sit down and rest inthe wet, wild woods was a risk she dare not take. Usually untiring onher feet, she felt the power to go on for a long while yet.
Another half-hour's walking, on ground which still ascended, brought herto a gate leading out of the woods upon a high road. Here she felt surethat she must turn to the left, since she had not crossed the river, andLachanrigg lay upon its bank. But when, still farther on, she came oncemore to cross-roads, she had no idea whether she ought to go on or toturn again. She had now been at least two hours upon her feet, and thefirst dim light of dawn was beginning to make the line of the roads moreapparent, the hedgerows blacker.
As she stood, bewildered, wondering what to do, she heard a sound ofcheery whistling along the road she was deciding to follow. Could thisbe a human being, someone who would direct her? She felt a rush ofhope, and stood waiting until out of the gloom ahead came the figure ofa sturdy boy, wearing the cap of a telegraph messenger.
His whistling, probably executed in order to keep up his own spiritsupon his lonely tramp, was suddenly checked and his feet halted. In hermist-coloured coat and veil the apparition in the road might easily havebeen something of the kind which raises the hair.
To reassure him she called out at once: "Oh, please, can you tell me howfar am I from Raefell Station?"
The boy stopped. After the manner of his kind, he said nothing of hisstartled surprise, though his chest rose and fell rapidly.
"It's all of five miles," he replied stolidly. "Want to get there?"
"Yes, but I did not mean to walk all the way. How far am I fromLachanrigg Farm?"
"Lachanrigg? Oo, thaat's a canny way baack. Six mile happen."
"Oh!" she cried. "Am I really nearer the railway than I am toLachanrigg?"
It appeared that this was so.
"I came through the Guyseburn woods," she said, "and the path wasflooded, so I went up the hill and lost my way."
"D'ye coom from t' Pele?" asked the boy with sudden interest.
"Yes," she replied, not desiring to risk a lie which might be quiteunnecessary.
He gave her a long, speculative look, his hand fumbling doubtfully withthe leather pouch containing the dispatch he carried. An inquiry afterher name was trembling on his tongue, but to deliver a cablegram to anunknown woman in the dark was too risky. It would save him some milesof unpleasant walking, but, on the other hand, it might cost him hisjob. It did not occur to Olwen that he was bound for the place she hadcome from, for she believed she ha
d come far out of the way. Herpreoccupation was to obtain directions for reaching the station, andthese he gave her. It did not sound a difficult route, and it would bedawn before long. With hearty thanks she bade him good morning and setoff. Beyond a headache she did not feel over-tired. She thought shecould manage five miles, and she had several malted milk lozenges withher. She took her way, and the boy took his, bearing the message whichcontained such important news for herself.
The Lonely Stronghold Page 28