Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15

by Plots (and) Counterplots (v1. 1)

  The Spaniard saw that the late interview had not been without a witness, and forgetting that they had spoken in an unknown tongue, for a moment he looked perfectly livid with fear and fury. Some recollection suddenly seemed to reassure him, but the covert purpose just formed appeared to culminate in action, for, with ungovernable hatred flaming up in his eyes, he said, in a suppressed voice that scarcely parted his white lips, “Eavesdropper and spy! I spit upon you!” And advancing one step struck Douglas full in the face.

  It had nearly been his last act, for, burning with scorn and detestation, Earl took him by the throat, and was about to execute swift retribution for both the old wrong and the new when Dupres came between them, whispering, as he wrenched Earl’s arm away, “Hold! Remember where you are. Come away, senor, I am your friend in this affair. It shall be arranged. Douglas, remain here, I entreat you.”

  As he spoke, Dupres gave Earl a warning glance, and drew Arguelles swiftly from the house. Controlling a desperate desire to follow, Douglas remembered his promise to let his friend conduct the affair in his own way, and by a strong effort composed himself, though his cheek still tingled with the blow, and his blood burned within him. The whole encounter had passed noiselessly, and when after a brief pause Douglas entered the conservatory, Mrs. Vane still lingered by the fountain, unconscious of the scene which had just transpired. She turned to greet the newcomer with extended hand, and it was with difficulty that he restrained the rash impulse to strike it from him. The very effort to control this desire made the pressure of his own hand almost painful as he took that other, and the strong grasp sent a thrill of joy to Mrs. Vane’s heart, as she smiled and glowed under his glance like a flower at the coming of the sun. The inward excitement, which it was impossible to wholly subdue, manifested itself in Earl’s countenance and manner more plainly than he knew, and would have excited some of ill in his companion’s mind had not love blinded her, and left none but prophecies of good. A little tremble of delight agitated her, and the eyes that once were so coldly bright and penetrating now were seldom lifted to the face that she had studied so carefully, not long ago. After the first greetings, she waited for him to speak, for words would not come at her will when with him; but he stood thoughtfully, dipping his hand into the fountain as she had done, and laying the wet palm against his cheek, lest its indignant color should betray the insult he had just received.

  “Did you meet Senor Arguelles as you came in?” she asked presently, as the pause was unbroken.

  “He passed me, and went out.”

  “You do not fancy him, I suspect.”

  “I confess it, Mrs. Vane.”

  “And why?”

  “Need I tell your

  The words escaped him involuntarily, and had she seen his face just then, her own would have blanched with fear. But she was looking down, and as he spoke the traitorous color rose to her forehead, though she ignored the betrayal by saying, with an accent of indifference, “He will not annoy you long. Tomorrow he fulfills some engagement with a friend in the country, and in the evening will take leave of me.”

  “He is about to return to Spain, then?”

  “I believe so. I did not question him.”

  “You will not bid him adieu without regret?”

  “With the greatest satisfaction, I assure you, for underneath that Spanish dignity of manner lurks fire, and I have no desire to be consumed.” And the sigh of relief that accompanied her words was the most sincere expression of feeling that had escaped her for weeks.

  Anxious to test his power to the utmost, Douglas pursued the subject, though it was evidently distasteful to her. Assuming an air of loverlike anxiety, he half timidly, half eagerly inquired, “Then when he comes again to say farewell, you will not consent to go with him to occupy the castle in Spain’ which he has built up for himself during this short week?”

  He thought to see some demonstration of pleasure at the jealous fear his words implied, but her color faded suddenly, and she shivered as if a chilly gust had blown over her, while she answered briefly, with a little gesture of the hand as she set the topic decidedly aside, “No, he will go alone.”

  There was a momentary pause, and in it something like pity knocked at the door of Earl’s heart, for with all his faults he was a generous man, and as he saw this woman sitting there, so unconscious of impending danger, so changed and beautiful by one true sentiment, his purpose wavered, a warning word rose to his lips, and with an impetuous gesture he took her hand, and turned away with an abrupt “Pardon me— it is too soon—I will explain hereafter.”

  The entrance of a servant with coffee seemed to rouse him into sudden spirits and activity, for begging Mrs. Vane to sit and rest, he served her with assiduous care.

  “Here is your own cup of violet and gold; you see I know your fancy even in trifles. Is it right? I took such pains to have it as you like it,” he said, as he presented the cup with an air of tender solicitude.

  “It does not matter, but one thing you have forgotten, I take no sugar,” she answered, smiling as she tasted.

  “I knew it, yet the line ‘Sweets to the sweet’ was running in my head, and so I unconsciously spoiled your draft. Let me retrieve the error?”

  “By no means. I drink to you.” And lifting the tiny cup to her lips, she emptied it with a look which proved that his words had already retrieved the error.

  He received the cup with a peculiar smile, looked at his watch, and exclaimed, “It is late, and I should go, yet—”

  “No, not yet; stay and finish the lines you began yesterday. I find less beauty in them when I read them to myself,” she answered, detaining him.

  Glad of an excuse to prolong his stay, Earl brought the book, and sitting near her, lent to the poem the sonorous music of his voice.

  The last words came all too soon, and when Douglas rose, Mrs. Vane bade him good night with a dreamy softness in her eyes which caused a gleam of satisfaction to kindle in his own. As he passed through the anteroom, Gabrielle met him with a look of anxious though mute inquiry in her face. He answered it with a significant nod, a warning gesture, and she let him out, wearing an aspect of the deepest mystery.

  Douglas hurried to his rooms, and there found Dupres with Major Mansfield, who had been put in possession of the secret, and the part he was expected to play in its unraveling.

  “What in heavens name did you mean by taking the wrong side of the quarrel, and forcing me to submit quietly to such an indignity?” demanded Earl, giving vent to the impatience which had only been curbed till now, that he might perform the portion of the plot allotted to him.

  “Tell me first, have you succeeded?” said Dupres.

  “I have.”

  “You are sure?”

  “Beyond a doubt.”

  “It is well; I applaud your dexterity. Behold the major, he knows all, he is perfect in his role. Now hear yours. You will immediately write a challenge.”

  “It is impossible! Antoine, you are a daft to ask me to meet that man.”

  “Bah! I ask you to meet, but not to honor him by blowing his brains out. He is a dead shot, and thirsts for your blood, but look you, he will be disappointed. We might arrest him this instant, but he will confess nothing, and that clever creature will escape us. No, my little arrangement suits me better.”

  “Time flies, Dupres, and so perhaps may this crafty hind that you are about to snare,” said the major, whose slow British wits were somewhat confused by the Frenchmans finesse.

  “It is true; see then, my Earl. In order that our other little affair may come smoothly off without interference from our friend, I propose to return to the senor, whom I have lately left writing letters, and amuse myself by keeping him at home to receive your challenge, which the major will bring about twelve. Then we shall arrange the affair to take place at sunrise, in some secluded spot out of town. You will be back here by that time, you will agree to our plans, and present yourself at the appointed time, when the grand denouement will ta
ke place with much eclat.”

  “Am I not to know more?” asked Douglas.

  “It would be well to leave all to me, for you will act your part better if you do not know the exact program, because you do not perform so well with Monsieur as with Madame. But if you must know, the major will tell you, while you wait for Hyde and the hour. I have seen him, he has no scruples; I have ensured his safety, and he will not fail us. Now the charming billet to the senor, and I go to my post.”

  Douglas wrote the challenge; Dupres departed in buoyant spirits; and while Earl waited for the stranger, Hyde, the major enlightened him upon the grand finale.

  The city clocks were striking twelve as two men, masked and cloaked, passed up the steps of Mrs. Vane’s house and entered noiselessly. No light beamed in the hall, but scarcely had they closed the door behind them when a glimmer shone from above, and at the stairhead appeared a woman beckoning. Up they stole, as if shod with velvet, and the woman flitted like a shadow before them, till they reached a door to the second story. Opening this, she motioned them to enter, and as they passed in, she glided up another flight, as if to stand guard over her sleeping fellow servants.

  One of the men was tall and evidently young, the other a bent and withered little man, whose hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his mask, and peered about him. It was a large still room, lighted by a night lamp, burning behind its shade, richly furnished, and decorated with warm hues, that produced the effect of mingled snow and fire. A luxurious nest it seemed, and a fit inmate of it looked the beautiful woman asleep in the shadow of the crimson-curtained bed. One white arm pillowed her head; from the little cap that should have confined it flowed a mass of golden hair over neck and shoulders; the long lashes lay dark against her cheek; the breath slept upon her lips; and perfect unconsciousness lent its reposeful charm to both face and figure.

  Noiselessly advancing, the taller man looked and listened for a moment, as if to assure himself that this deep slumber was not feigned; then he beckoned the other to bring the lamp. It flickered as the old man took it up, but he trimmed the wick, removed the shade, and a clear light shone across the room. Joining his companion, he too looked at the sleeping beauty, shook his gray head, and seemed to deplore some fact that marred the pretty picture in his sight.

  "Is there no danger of her waking, sir:*” he whispered, as the light fell on her face.

  "It is impossible for an hour yet. The bracelet is on that wrist; we must move her, or you cannot reach it,” returned the other; and with a gentle touch drew the left arm from underneath her head.

  She sighed in her sleep, knit her brows, as if a dream disturbed her, and turning on her pillow, all the bright hair fell about her face, but could not hide the glitter of the chain about her neck. Drawing it forth, the taller man started, uttered an exclamation, dragged from his own bosom a duplicate of the miniature hanging from that chain, and compared the two with trembling intentness. Very like they were, those two young faces, handsome, frank and full of boyish health, courage, and blithesomeness. One might have been taken a year after the other, for the brow was bolder, the mouth graver, the eye more steadfast, but the same charm of expression appeared in both, making the ivory oval more attractive even to a stranger’s eye than the costly setting, or the initial letters A. D. done in pearls upon the back. A small silver key hung on the chain the woman wore, and as if glad to tear his thoughts from some bitter reminiscence, the man detached this key, and glanced about the room, as if to discover what lock it would be.

  His action seemed to remind the other of his own task, for setting down the lamp on the little table where lay a prayer book, a bell, and a rosary, he produced a case of delicate instruments and a bunch of tiny keys, and bending over the bracelet, examined the golden padlock that fastened it. While he carefully tried key after key upon that miniature lock, the chief of this mysterious inspection went to and fro with the silver key, attempting larger locks. Nowhere did it fit, till in passing the toilet table his foot brushed its draperies aside, disclosing a quaint foreign-looking casket of ebony and silver. Quick as thought it was drawn out and opened, for here the key did its work. In the upper tray lay the opal ring in its curiously thick setting, beside it a seal, rudely made from an impression in wax of his own iron ring, and a paper bearing its stamp. The marriage record was in hand, and he longed to keep or destroy it, but restrained the impulse; and lifting the tray, found below two or three relics of his friend Vane, and some childish toys, soiled and broken, but precious still.

  “A child! Good God! What have I done?” he said to himself, as the lid fell from his hand.

  “Hush, come and look, it is off,” whispered the old man, and hastily restoring all things to their former order, the other relocked and replaced the casket, and obeyed the call.

  For a moment a mysterious and striking picture might have been seen in that quiet room. Under the crimson canopy lay the fair figure of the sleeping woman, her face half hidden by the golden shadow of her hair, her white arm laid out on the warm-hued coverlet, and bending over it, the two masked men, one holding the lamp nearer, the other pointing to something just above the delicate wrist, now freed from the bracelet, which lay open beside it. Two distinctly traced letters were seen, V. V., and underneath a tiny true-lover’s knot, in the same dark lines.

  The man who held the lamp examined the brand with minutest care, then making a gesture of satisfaction, he said, “It is enough, I am sure now. Put on the bracelet, and come away; there is nothing more to be done tonight.”

  The old man skillfully replaced the hand, while the other put back locket and key, placed the lamp where they found it; and with a last look at the sleeper, whose unconscious helplessness appealed to them for mercy, both stole away as noiselessly as they had come. The woman reappeared the instant they left the room, lighted them to the hall door, received some reward that glittered as it passed from hand to hand, and made all fast behind them, pausing a moment in a listening attitude, till the distant roll of a carriage assured her that the maskers were safely gone.

  Chapter X

  IN THE SNARE

  THE first rays of the sun fell on a group of five men, standing together on a waste bit of ground in the environs of London. Major Mansfield and Dupres were busily loading pistols, marking off the distance, and conferring together with a great display of interest. Douglas conversed tranquilly with the surgeon in attendance, a quiet, unassuming man, who stood with his hand in his pocket, as if ready to produce his case of instruments at a moment’s notice. The Spaniard was alone, and a curious change seemed to have passed over him. The stately calmness of his demeanor was gone, and he paced to and fro with restless steps, like a panther in his cage. A look of almost savage hatred lowered on his swarthy face; desperation and despair alternately glowed and gloomed in his fierce eye; and the whole man wore a look of one who after long restraint yields himself utterly to the dominion of some passion, dauntless and indomitable as death.

  Once he paused, drew from his pocket an ill-spelled, rudely written letter, which had been put into his hand by a countryman as he left his hotel, reread the few lines it contained, and thrust it back into his bosom, muttering, “All things favor me; this was the last tie that bound her; now we must stand or fall together.”

  “Senor, we are prepared,” called Dupres, advancing, pistol in hand, to place his principal, adding, as Arguelles dropped hat and cloak, “our custom may be different from yours, but give heed, and at the word I hree, hre.

  “I comprehend, monsieur,” and a dark smile passed across the Spaniards face as he took his place and stretched his hand to receive the weapon.

  But Dupres drew back a step—and with a sharp metallic click, around that extended wrist snapped a handcuff. A glance showed Arguelles that he was lost, for on his right stood the counterfeit surgeon, with the well-known badge now visible on his blue coat, behind him Major Mansfield, armed, before him Douglas, guarding the nearest outlet of escape, and on his left Dupres, radia
nt with satisfaction, exclaiming, as he bowed with grace, “A thousand pardons, Monsieur Victor Varens, but this little ruse was inevitable.”

  Quick as a flash that freed left hand snatched the pistol from Dupres, aimed it at Douglas, and it would have accomplished its work had not the Frenchman struck up the weapon. But the ball was sped, and as the pistol turned in his hand, the bullet lodged in Victors breast, sparing him the fate he dreaded more than death. In an instant all trace of passion vanished, and with a melancholy dignity that nothing could destroy, he offered his hand to receive the fetter, saying calmly, while his lips whitened, and a red stain dyed the linen on his breast, “I am tired of my life; take it.”

  They laid him down, for as he spoke, consciousness ebbed away. A glance assured the major that the wound was mortal, and carefully conveying the senseless body to the nearest house, Douglas and the detective remained to tend and guard the prisoner, while the other gentlemen posted to town to bring a genuine surgeon and necessary help, hoping to keep life in the man till his confession had been made.

  At nightfall, Mrs. Vane, or Virginie, as we may now call her, grew anxious for the return of Victor, who was to bring her tidings of the child, because she dared not visit him just now herself.

  When dressed for the evening, she dismissed Gabrielle, opened the antique casket, and put on the opal ring, carefully attaching the little chain that fastened it securely to her bracelet, for the ring was too large for the delicate hand that wore it. Then with steady feet she went down to the drawing room to meet her lover and her victim.

  But some reproachful memory seemed to start up and haunt the present with a vision of the past. She passed her hand across her eyes, as if she saw again the little room, where in the gray dawn she had left her husband lying dead, and she sank into a seat, groaning half aloud, "Oh, if I could forget!”