The Secret of Sarek
Page 11
CHAPTER X
THE ESCAPE
Shuddering, uncertain how to act next, Veronique listened till she nolonger heard the sound of his footsteps. What should she do? The murderof Stephane had for a moment turned her thoughts from Francois; but shenow once more fell a prey to anguish. What had become of her son? Shouldshe go to him at the Priory and defend him against the dangers thatthreatened him?
"Come, come," she said, "I'm losing my head . . . . Let me think thingsout . . . . A few hours ago, Francois was speaking to me through thewall of his prison . . . for it was certainly he then, it was certainlyFrancois who yesterday took my hand and covered it with his kisses. . . . A mother cannot be deceived; and I was quivering with love andtenderness . . . . But since . . . since this morning has he not lefthis prison?"
She stopped to think and then said, slowly:
"That's it . . . that's what happened . . . . Stephane and I werediscovered below, on the floor underneath. The alarm was given at once.The monster, Vorski's son, had gone up expressly to watch Francois. Hefound the cell empty and, seeing the opening which had been made,crawled out here. Yes, that's it . . . . If not, by what way did hecome? . . . When he got here, it occurred to him to run to the window,knowing that it overlooked the sea and suspecting that Francois hadchosen it to make his escape. He at once saw the hooks of the ladder.Then, on leaning over, he saw me, knew who I was and called out to me. . . . And now . . . now he is on his way to the Priory, where he isbound to meet Francois . . . ."
Nevertheless Veronique did not stir. She had an instinct that the dangerlay not at the Priory but here, by the cells. And she wondered whetherFrancois had really succeeded in escaping and whether, before his taskwas done, he had not been surprised by the other and attacked by him.
It was a horrible doubt! She stooped quickly and, perceiving that thehole had been widened, tried to pass through it herself. But the outlet,at most large enough for a child, was too narrow for her; and hershoulders became fixed. She persisted in the attempt, however, tearingher bodice and bruising her skin against the rock, and at last, by dintof patience and wriggling, succeeded in slipping through.
The cell was empty. But the door was open on the passages facing her;and Veronique had an impression--merely an impression, for the windowadmitted only a faint light--that some one was just leaving the cellthrough the open door. And from this confused impression of somethingthat she had not absolutely seen she retained the certainty that it wasa woman who was hiding there, in the passage, a woman surprised by herunexpected entrance.
"It's their accomplice," thought Veronique. "She came up with the boywho killed Stephane, and she has no doubt taken Francois away . . . .Perhaps Francois is even there still, quite near me, while she'swatching me . . . ."
Meanwhile Veronique's eyes were growing accustomed to the semidarknessand she distinctly saw a woman's hand upon the door, which openedinwardly. The hand was slowly pulling.
"Why doesn't she shut it at once," Veronique wondered, "since sheobviously wants to put a barrier between us?"
Veronique received her answer when she heard a pebble grating under thedoor and interfering with its movement. If the pebble were not there,the door would be closed. Without hesitating, Veronique went up, tookhold of a great iron handle and pulled it towards her. The handdisappeared, but the opposition continued. There was evidently a handleon the other side as well.
Suddenly she heard a whistle. The woman was summoning assistance. Andalmost at the same time, in the passage, at some distance from thewoman, there was a cry:
"Mother! Mother!"
Ah, with what deep emotion Veronique heard that cry! Her son, her realson was calling to her, her son, still a captive but alive! Oh, thesuperhuman delight of it!
"I'm here, darling!"
"Quick, mother! I'm tied up; and the whistle is their signal . . .they'll be coming."
"I'm here . . . . I shall save you before they come!"
She had no doubt of the result. It seemed to her as though her strengthknew no limits and as though nothing could resist the exasperatedtension of her whole being.
Her adversary was in fact weakening and giving ground by inches. Theopening became wider; and suddenly the contest was over. Veroniquewalked through.
The woman had already fled down the passage and was dragging the boy bya rope in order to make him walk despite the cords with which he wasbound. It was a vain attempt and she abandoned it forthwith. Veroniquewas close to her, with her revolver in her hand.
The woman let go the boy and stood up in the light from the open cells.She was dressed in white serge, with a knotted girdle round her waist.Her arms were half bare. Her face was still young, but faded, thin andwrinkled. Her hair was fair, interspersed with strands of white. Hereyes gleamed with a feverish hatred.
The two women looked at each other without a word, like two adversarieswho have met before and are about to fight again. Veronique almostsmiled, with a smile of mingled triumph and defiance. In the end shesaid:
"If you dare to lay a finger on my child, I'll kill you. Go! Be off!"
The woman was not frightened. She seemed to be reflecting and to belistening in the expectation of assistance. None come. Then she loweredher eyes to Francois and made a movement as though to seize upon herprey again.
"Don't touch him!" Veronique exclaimed, violently. "Don't touch him, orI fire!"
The woman shrugged her shoulders and said, in measured accents:
"No threats, please! If I had wanted to kill that child of yours, Ishould have done so by now. But his hour has not come; and it is not bymy hand that he is to die."
Veronique, trembling all over, could not help asking:
"By whose hand is he to die?"
"By my son's: you know . . . the one you've seen."
"Is he your son, the murderer, the monster?"
"He's the son of . . ."
"Silence! Silence!" Veronique commanded. She understood that the womanhad been Vorski's mistress and feared that she would make somedisclosure in Francois' presence. "Silence: that name is not to bespoken."
"It will be when it has to be," said the woman. "Ah, I've sufferedenough through you, Veronique: it's your turn now; and you're only atthe beginning of it!"
"Go!" cried Veronique, pointing her revolver.
"Once more, no threats, please."
"Go, or I fire! I swear it on the head of my son."
The woman retreated, betraying a certain anxiety in spite of herself.But she was seized with a fresh access of rage. Impotently she raisedher clenched fists and shouted, in a raucous, broken voice:
"I will be revenged . . . You shall see. Veronique . . . . The cross--doyou understand?--the cross is ready . . . . You are the fourth . . . .What, oh, what a revenge!"
She shook her gnarled, bony fists. And she continued:
"Oh, how I hate you! Fifteen years of hatred! But the cross will avengeme . . . . I shall string you up on it myself . . . . The cross is ready. . . you'll see . . . the cross is ready for you! . . ."
She walked away slowly, holding herself erect under the threat of therevolver.
"Don't kill her, mother, will you?" whispered Francois, suspecting thecontest in his mother's mind.
Veronique seemed to wake from a dream:
"No, no," she replied, "don't be afraid . . . . And yet perhaps I oughtto . . ."
"Oh, please let her be, mother, and let us go away."
She lifted him in her arms, even before the woman was out of sight,pressed him to her and carried him to the cell as though he weighed nomore than a little child.
"Mother, mother," he said.
"Yes, darling, your own mother; and no one shall take you from me again,that I swear to you."
Without troubling about the wounds inflicted by the stone she slipped,this time almost at the first attempt, through the gap made by Francois,drew him after her and then, but not before, released him from hisbonds.
"There is no danger here," she said, "at least f
or the moment, becausethey can hardly get at us except by the cell and I shall be able todefend the entrance."
Mother and son exchanged the fondest of embraces. There was now nobarrier to part their lips and their arms. They could see each other,could gaze into each other's eyes.
"How handsome you are, my darling!" said Veronique.
She saw no resemblance between him and the boy murderer and wasastonished that Honorine could have taken one for the other. And shefelt as if she would never weary of admiring the breeding, the franknessand the sweetness which she read in his face.
"And you, mother," he said, "do you think that I ever pictured a motheras beautiful as you? No, not even in my dreams, when you seemed aslovely as a fairy. And yet Stephane often used to tell me . . ."
She interrupted him:
"We must hurry, dearest, and take refuge from their pursuit. We mustgo."
"Yes," he said, "and above all we must leave Sarek. I have invented aplan of escape which is bound to succeed. But, first of all, Stephane:what has become of him? I heard the sound of which I spoke to youunderneath my cell and I fear . . ."
She dragged him along by the hand, without answering his question:
"I have many things to tell you, darling, painful things which I must nolonger keep from you. But presently will do . . . . For the moment wemust take refuge in the Priory. That woman will go in search of help andcome after us."
"But she was not alone, mother, when she entered my cell suddenly andcaught me in the act of digging at the wall. There was some one withher."
"A boy, wasn't it? A boy of your own size?"
"I could hardly see. He and the woman fell upon me, bound me and carriedme into the passage. Then the woman left me for a moment and he wentback to the cell. He therefore knows about this tunnel by now and aboutthe exit in the Priory grounds."
"Yes, I know. But we shall easily get the better of him; and we'll blockup the exit."
"But there remains the bridge which joins the two islands," Francoisobjected.
"No," she said, "I burnt it down and the Priory is absolutely cut off."
They were walking very quickly, Veronique pressing her pace, Francois alittle anxious at the words spoken by his mother.
"Yes, yes," he said, "I see that there is a good deal which I don't knowand which you have kept from me, mother, in order not to frighten me.For instance, when you burnt down the bridge . . . . It was with thepetrol set aside for the purpose, wasn't it, and as arranged withMaguennoc in case of danger? So you were threatened too; and the firstattack was made on you, mother? . . . And then there was something thatwoman said with such a hateful look on her face! . . . And then . . .and then, above all, what has become of Stephane? They were whisperingabout him just now in my cell . . . . All this worries me . . . . Thenagain I don't see the ladder which you brought . . . ."
"Please, dearest, don't let us wait a moment. The woman will have foundassistance . . . ."
The boy stopped short:
"Mother."
"What? Do you hear anything?"
"Some one walking."
"Are you sure?"
"Some one coming this way."
"Oh," she said, in a hollow voice, "it's the murderer coming back fromthe Priory!"
She felt her revolver and prepared herself for anything that mighthappen. But suddenly she pushed Francois towards a dark corner on herleft, formed by the entry to one of those tunnels, probably blocked,which she had noticed when she came.
"Get in there," she said. "We shall be all right here: he will not seeus."
The sound approached.
"Stand well back," she said, "and don't stir."
The boy whispered:
"What's that in your hand? A revolver? Mother, you're not going tofire?"
"I ought to, I ought to," said Veronique. "He's such a monster! . . .It's as with his mother . . . I ought to have . . . we shall perhapsregret it." And she added, almost unconsciously, "He killed yourgrandfather."
"Oh, mother, mother!"
She supported him, to prevent his falling, and amid the silence sheheard the boy sobbing on her breast and stammering:
"Never mind . . . don't fire, mother . . . ."
"Here he comes, darling, here he comes; look at him."
The other passed. He was walking slowly, a little bent, listening forthe least sound. He appeared to Veronique to be the exact same size asher son; and this time, when she looked at him with more attention, shewas not so much surprised that Honorine and M. d'Hergemont had beentaken in, for there were really some points of resemblance, which wouldhave been accentuated by the fact that he was wearing the red cap stolenfrom Francois.
He walked on.
"Do you know him?" asked Veronique.
"No, mother."
"Are you sure that you never saw him?"
"Sure."
"And it was he who fell upon you, with the woman, in your cell?"
"I haven't a doubt of it, mother. He even hit me in the face, for noreason, with absolute hatred."
"Oh," she said, "this is all incomprehensible! When shall we escape thisawful nightmare?"
"Quick, mother, the road's clear. Let's make the most of it."
On returning to the light, she saw that he was very pale and felt hishand in hers like a lump of ice. Nevertheless he looked up at her with asmile of happiness.
They set out again; and soon, after passing the strip of cliff thatjoined the two islands and climbing the staircases, they emerged in theopen air, to the right of Maguennoc's garden. The daylight was beginningto wane.
"We are saved," said Veronique.
"Yes," replied the boy, "but only on condition that they cannot reach usby the same road. We shall have to bar it, therefore."
"How?"
"Wait for me here; I'll go and fetch some tools at the Priory."
"Oh, don't let us leave each other, Francois!"
"You can come with me, mother."
"And suppose the enemy arrives in the meantime? No, we must defend thisoutlet."
"Then help me, mother."
A rapid inspection showed them that one of the two stones which formed aroof above the entrance was not very firmly rooted in its place. Theyfound no difficulty in first shifting and then clearing it. The stonefell across the staircase and was at once covered by an avalanche ofearth and pebbles which made the passage, if not impracticable, at leastvery hard to manage.
"All the more so," said Francois, "as we shall stay here until we areable to carry out my plan. And be easy, mother; it's a sound scheme andwe have nearly managed it."
For that matter, they recognized above all, that rest was essential.They were both of them worn out.
"Lie down, mother . . . look, just here: there's a bed of moss underthis overhanging rock which makes a regular nest. You'll be as cosy as aqueen there and sheltered from the cold."
"Oh, my darling, my darling!" murmured Veronique, overcome withhappiness.
It was now the time for explanations; and Veronique did not hesitate togive them. The boy's grief at hearing of the death of all those whom hehad known would be mitigated by the great joy which he felt atrecovering his mother. She therefore spoke without reserve, cradling himin her lap, wiping away his tears, feeling plainly that she was enoughto make up for all the lost affections and friendships. He wasparticularly afflicted by Stephane's death.
"But is it quite certain?" he asked. "For, after all, there is nothingto tell us that he is drowned. Stephane is a perfect swimmer; and so. . . Yes, yes, mother, we must not despair . . . on the contrary. . . . Look, here's a friend who always comes at the worst times, todeclare that everything is not lost."
All's Well came trotting along. The sight of his master did not appearto surprise him. Nothing unduly surprised All's Well. Events, to hismind, always followed one another in a natural order which did notdisturb either his habits or his occupations. Tears alone seemed to himworthy of special attention. And Veronique and Francois were not crying.
Veronique looked at her son:
"Left the island?"
"Certainly: and the sooner the better. That's my plan. What do you sayto it?"
"But how are we to get away?"
"In a boat."
"Is there one here?"
"Yes, mine."
"Where?"
"Close by, at Sarek Point."
"But how are we to get down? The cliff is perpendicular."
"She's at the very place where the cliff is steepest, a place known asthe Postern. The name puzzled Stephane and myself. A postern suggests anentrance, a gate. Well, we ended by learning that, in the middle ages,at the time of the monks, the little isle on which the Priory stands wassurrounded by ramparts. It was therefore to be presumed that there was apostern here which commanded an outlet on the sea. And in fact, afterhunting about with Maguennoc, we discovered, on the flat top of thecliff, a sort of gully, a sandy depression reinforced at intervals byregular walls made of big building-stones. A path winds down the middle,with steps and windows on the side of the sea, and leads to a littlebay. That is the Postern outlet. We repaired it: and my boat is hangingat the foot of the cliff."
Veronique's features underwent a transformation:
"Then we're safe now!"
"There's no doubt of that."
"And the enemy can't get there?"
"How could he?"
"He has the motor-boat at his disposal."
"He has never been there, because he doesn't know of the bay nor of theway down to it either: you can't see them from the open sea. Besides,they are protected by a thousand sharp-pointed rocks."
"And what's to prevent us from leaving at once?"
"The darkness, mother. I'm a good mariner and accustomed to navigateall the channels that lead away from Sarek, but I should not be at allsure of not striking some reef or other. No, we must wait for daylight."
"It seems so long!"
"A few hours' patience, mother. And we are together, you and I! At breakof dawn, we'll take the boat and begin by hugging the foot of the clifftill we are underneath the cells. Then we'll pick up Stephane, who ofcourse will be waiting for us on some strip of beach, and we'll all beoff, won't we, All's Well? We'll land at Pont-l'Abbe at twelve o'clockor so. That's my plan."
Veronique could not contain her delight and admiration. She wasastonished to find so young a boy giving proofs of such self-possession.
"It's splendid, darling, and you're right in everything. Luck isdecidedly coming our way."
The evening passed without incidents. An alarm, however, a noise underthe rubbish which blocked the underground passage and a ray of lighttrickling through a slit obliged them to mount guard until the minute oftheir departure. But it did not affect their spirits.
"Why, of course I'm easy in my mind," said Francois. "From the momentwhen I found you again, I felt that it was for good. Besides, if theworst came to the worst, have we not a last hope left? Stephane spoke toyou about it, I expect. And it makes you laugh, my confidence in arescuer whom I have never seen . . . . Well, I tell you, mother, if Iwere to see a dagger about to strike me, I should be certain, absolutelycertain, mind you, that a hand would come and ward off the blow."
"Alas," she said, "that providential hand did not prevent all themisfortunes of which I told you!"
"It will keep off those which threaten my mother," declared the boy.
"How? This unknown friend has not been warned."
"He will come all the same. He doesn't need to be warned to know howgreat the danger is. He will come. And, mother, promise me one thing:whatever happens, you must have confidence."
"I will have confidence, darling, I promise you."
"And you will be right," he said, laughing, "for I shall be the leader.And what a leader, eh, mother? Why, yesterday evening I foresaw that, tocarry the enterprise through successfully and so that my mother shouldbe neither cold nor hungry, in case we were not able to take the boatthis afternoon, we must have food and rugs! Well, they will be of use tous to-night, seeing that for prudence's sake we mustn't abandon our posthere and sleep at the Priory. Where did you put the parcel, mother?"
They ate gaily and with a good appetite. Then Francois wrapped hismother up and tucked her in: and they both fell asleep, lying closetogether, happy and unafraid.
When the keen air of the morning woke Veronique, a belt of rosy lightstreaked the sky. Francois was sleeping the peaceful sleep of a childthat feels itself protected and is untroubled by dreams. For a long timeshe just sat gazing at him without wearying: and she was still lookingat him when the sun was high above the horizon.
"To work, mother," he said, after he had opened his eyes and given her akiss. "No one in the tunnel? No. Then we have plenty of time to go onboard."
They took the rugs and provisions and, with brisk steps, went towardsthe descent leading to the Postern, at the extreme end of the island.Beyond this point the rocks were heaped up in formidable confusion: andthe sea, though calm, lapped against them noisily.
"I hope your boat's there still!" said Veronique.
"Lean over a little, mother. You can see her down there, hanging in thatcrevice. We have only to work the pulley to get her afloat. Oh, it's allvery well thought out, mother darling! We have nothing to fear . . . .Only . . . only . . ."
He had interrupted himself and was thinking.
"What? What is it?" asked Veronique.
"Oh, nothing! A slight delay."
"But . . ."
He began to laugh:
"Really, for the leader of an expedition, it's rather humiliating, Iadmit. Just fancy, I've forgotten one thing: the oars. They are at thePriory."
"But this is terrible!" cried Veronique.
"Why? I'll run to the Priory and I shall be back in ten minutes."
All Veronique's apprehensions returned:
"And suppose they make their way out of the tunnel meanwhile?"
"Come, come, mother," he laughed, "you promised to have confidence. Toget out of the tunnel would take them an hour's hard work; and weshould hear them. Besides, what's the use of talking, mother? I'll beback at once."
He ran off.
"Francois! Francois!"
He did not reply.
"Oh," she thought, once more assailed by forebodings. "I had sworn notto leave him for a second!"
She followed him at a distance and stopped on a hillock between theFairies' Dolmen and the Calvary of the Flowers. From here she could seethe entrance to the tunnel and also saw her son jogging along the grass.
He first went into the basement of the Priory. But the oars seemed notto be there, for he came out almost at once and went to the main door,which he opened and disappeared from sight.
"One minute ought to be plenty for him," said Veronique to herself. "Theoars must be in the hall . . . or at any rate on the ground-floor. . . . Say two minutes, at the outside."
She counted the seconds while watching the entrance to the tunnel.
But three minutes, four minutes, five minutes passed: and the front-doordid not open again.
All Veronique's confidence vanished. She thought that it was mad of hernot to have gone with her son and that she ought never to have submittedto a child's will. Without troubling about the tunnel or the dangersfrom that side, she began to walk towards the Priory. But she had thehorrible feeling which people sometimes experience in dreams, whentheir legs seem paralysed and when they are unable to move, while theenemy advances to attack them.
And suddenly, on reaching the Dolmen, she beheld a sight the meaning ofwhich was immediately clear to her. The ground at the foot of the oaksround the right-hand part of the semi-circle was littered with latelycut branches, which still bore their green leaves.
She raised her eyes and stood stupefied and dismayed.
One oak a
lone had been stripped. And on the huge trunk, bare to a heightof twelve or fifteen feet, there was a paper, transfixed by an arrow andbearing the inscription, "V. d'H."
"The fourth cross," Veronique faltered, "the cross marked with my name!"
She supposed that, as her father was dead, the initials of her maidenname must have been written by one of her enemies, the chief of them, nodoubt; and for the first time, under the influence of recent events,remembering the woman and the boy who were persecuting her, sheinvoluntarily attributed a definite set of features to that enemy.
It was a fleeting impression, an improbable theory, of which she was noteven conscious. She was overwhelmed by something much more terrible. Shesuddenly understood that the monsters, those creatures of the heath andthe cells, the accomplices of the woman and the boy, must have beenthere, since the cross was prepared. No doubt they had built afoot-bridge and thrown it over the chasm to take the place of the bridgeto which she had set fire. They were masters of the Priory. AndFrancois was once more in their hands!
Then she rushed straight along, collecting all her strength. She in herturn ran over the turf, dotted with ruins, that sloped towards the frontof the house.
"Francois! Francois! Francois!"
She called his name in a piercing voice. She announced her coming withloud cries. Thus did she reach the Priory.
One half of the door stood ajar. She pushed it and darted into the hall,crying:
"Francois! Francois!"
The call rang from floor to attic and throughout the house, but remainedunanswered:
"Francois! Francois!"
She went upstairs, opening doors at random, running into her son's room,into Stephane's, into Honorine's. She found nobody.
"Francois! Francois! . . . Don't you hear me? Are they hurting you?. . . Oh, Francois, do answer!"
She went back to the landing. Opposite her was M. d'Hergemont's study.She flung herself upon the door and at once recoiled, as though strickenby a vision from hell.
A man was standing there, with arms crossed and apparently waiting forher. And it was the man whom she had pictured for an instant whenthinking of the woman and the boy. It was the third monster!
She said, simply, but in a voice filled with inexpressible horror:
"Vorski! . . . Vorski! . . ."