A Fluttered Dovecote

by George Manville Fenn

draw it from its hiding-place to hand to Achille to seethat it was posted. But before I passed it over to him, I felt that Icould not send it as it was. I must insert one tender word, one morekind sentence. So, taking out my pencil, I screwed up the point, andthen, with very little difficulty, raised the lappel of the envelope--for really our gummed envelopes are so very insecure--while I knew thatwe must stop at some hotel in London where I could obtain wax or a freshenvelope. So I took out the note, and prepared to write upon the palmof my hand; but seeing what I meant to do, Achille lent me his hat, uponthe crown for desk, I laid my note as, by the light of the dim lamp, Ibegan to trace in pencil a second--let me see; no, I remember it was afourth--loving, prayerful postscript.

  Tiresome light! How terribly it began to dance about! I thought thatpart of the line must be much out of repair, for the carriage wobbledexcessively. My eyes, too, were dim as the light, and I had to tryagain and again to read the postscript which met my frightened gaze:

  "Mrs Fortesquieu de Blount desires her best respects and compliments,and--"

  "Qu'est ce que c'est, mon ange?" murmured Achille, as I dropped thefatal letter, and nearly swooned away; for--oh, how could I have been sofoolish!--I had marked the envelopes so as not to make any mistake, andyet had put in the wrong letters, sending word home that I had eloped,and giving them ample notice of my intentions.

  I caught the letter up again, and tried to pass it off as nothing--onlya sudden pang, for I dare not tell Achille; but who can imagine my agonyas we sped on for the rest of our journey? For we could not converse,on account of the other passengers, and my brain was in a whirl.

  All at once the train began to slacken, and, in the comparative quiet, Ihoped and thought possible a dozen things: the letter might havemiscarried, or been sent wrong; it might have been lost; papa and mammamight have been out--plenty of things might have happened in my favour;and then we drew up at another dismal station, whose bleared lights wecould see through the rain spotted windows. Here the tickets werecollected, and I felt sure that the ticket collector looked suspiciouslyat both Achille and me; while, as we waited, I could hear them clankingin the milk tins into the great wild beast cage upon wheels that theyhave upon the night trains of that and, I suppose, all railways. Atlast, just as we were about to start, the door opened again, and a wetman jumped in, and sat there staring at us all the rest of the way.

  London at last, in the darkness and misery of the early morning! It wasof no use to try and keep them back, the tears would come, and even thereassuring pressure of Achille's hand was of no avail to cheer me; for,oh! it did look so very, very, very miserable in the dark, cheerless,wet time, and I hardly knew how to stand.

  "This way, sir," said a man who appeared to be one of the guards, for hewas dressed just like one. "Cab all ready, sir."

  "Merci," replied Achille; and I clung to his arm as we followed thecivil guard under the long row of dismal hanging lamps, some alight andsome out, past the hissing engine, with its bright light, and warm,ruddy, glowing fire; and at that moment I did so wish that I was ahappy, careless engine driver, warming myself in the cheery heat--anything but what I then was; for I was dreadfully unhappy, and, I amafraid, even a little disappointed that my fears had no suite, sostrange a contradiction is a woman's heart. However, on we went towhere another man was waiting by a cab, and as soon as we approached heopened the door.

  Weak, faint, and miserable, I hurried in, and leaned back trembling in acorner, expecting Achille the next moment would be at my side; but, tomy horror, I saw a slight scuffle take place, and Achille dragged off.The guard-like man jumped in, shut the door after him, and pulled up theglass; while at the same moment the horrid wet cab jangled off, and thecreature lowered the front window and gave some instructions to thedriver.

  "Oh, stop, stop!" I cried, in agony, as I jumped up. "There is somemistake. Where is Monsieur Achille--the gentleman who was with me?"

  "That clinches what didn't want no clinching, my dear," said the horridwretch, shouting at me, for the cab made so much noise--"that clinchesit, my dear. I hadn't a doubt before; and as to now, why, it's right asright, and there's no mistake. Now sit down, my dear. I shan't hurtyou, so don't be frightened; and it's of no use for you to try and jumpout, because I don't mean to let you. There now, see what you've done--you've broke the window! Not very surprising, though, for they alwaysmakes cab windows of the thinnest glass they can get hold of for thebenefit of their fares. Make a handsome thing out of the profits, someowners do, being mostly broken by noisy swells who can pay up. Helpsthe shoeing bill, you know, my dear. Now, do sit still. What astruggling little bird it is!"

  I was horrified and mad; for the wretch had caught me in his arms as Istarted from my seat and beat at the window till it fell shattered topieces; but in spite of my struggles he held me down upon the seat byhis side.

  "It's all right, my dear Miss Laura Bozerne. And you needn't be in theleast bit afraid of me; for I'm an old married man, sent by some one youknow very well, working under the advice of my wife, and I'm to bedepended upon. So sit still, my little dove, you're saved out of thehawk's claws this time."

  What could I do but sink back with a hysterical sob, my mind in a stateof chaos? I really, I'm sure, did not know then whether I was pleasedor sorry, though I had felt it incumbent upon me to struggle a little atfirst. I'm sure my brains were all anyhow, as I wondered who the manwas by my side, and where he was taking me. Had Achille betrayed me andfled? Oh, no--impossible! Papa must have taken steps to stop us; andthis wretch by my side was, I felt sure, a detective.

  Up and down street after street, all dark, dismal, and deserted, as Icould see when the wretch rubbed the steaming glass with his sleeve.The lamps were all burning; and here and there we passed a policeman,and, every time the light shone upon their wet capes, fresh tears gushedfrom my eyes as I thought of Achille and his probable fate. Then, too,I thought again of where they were bearing me. Was I to be imprisoned--taken before a magistrate? Oh, it was horrible! and the long, janglingride seemed as though it would never end.

  "Now, that's what I call sensible, my dear," said the wretch, all atonce--shouting so that I'm sure the driver could almost have heard."Some people, you see, never do know when they're took, but keep onfighting agen it when there's no more chance of getting away thanflying. That's right, take it coolly, and a good cry will do you no endof good, I dare say."

  Then, finding me quiet and resigned, my captor appeared to take butlittle more notice of me, only turning his head my way from time to timeas we passed a lamp. I would have given anything to have known where wewere going; but, of course, under the circumstances, I could not summoncourage enough to ask; but at last I seemed to recognise places that wepassed, first one and then another becoming familiar, till it seemedalmost like returning home from a ball. And--yes--no--yes--no--yes, itwas our own house before which we had driven up, and the driver wasringing furiously at the bell!

  Oh, yes, it was all plain enough now. I had been entrapped and broughthome, and I knew that I had betrayed myself by my own folly.

  "Oh, Achille, Achille!" I murmured.

  "He's all right, miss, I dare say," said my captor, who certainlypossessed a preternatural sharpness of hearing; "and I should think thatwe had better sit here in the dry till the door opens, though I dare saythat won't be long, for they expex us."

  And he was right; for, with swimming eyes, I saw the flash of light,while I could not help blessing the darkness of the cold, winterly morn,which hid me from the gaze of the vulgar. The people on either sidewere doubtless asleep, and there was no one visible but a policeman, whohelped to carry me over the wet pavement into the hall, where, tremblingand dizzy, I stood for a moment before papa in his dressing-gown, andthen really and truly I fainted dead away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

  MEMORY THE TWENTY-FOURTH--FATE.

  I never saw Achille again, and I never once dared to ask either mamma orpapa about his fate; for they
were both so kind and tender all the timethat I was seriously ill from the cold, exposure, and agitation to whichI had been subjected. It was quite a month before I was able to go outagain; while now--heigho!--would that I had never had a heart!

  No: I never saw Achille again; but never, oh never will I believe thatnewspaper report, though papa marked it all round thickly with a quillpen, and left it where I could not avoid seeing it! It was in one ofthe horrible evening papers, and said that one Achille de Tiraille hadbeen committed for trial upon a charge of swindling; but, even if itwere true, it could not have been my Achille--the soul of truth, honour,and chivalry, whom I had once known.

  Shall I ever be happy again? I feel seared and blighted; and, exceptthat pink is pleasing, I care little for dress.