“Write it now,” said my cousin. “We’ll stand behind the curtains in case anyone should appear. If they see you sitting in the shadows, they’ll assume it’s Harris or Punter, sure as a gun.”
“Good,” said Palin, and took his seat at a table close to the hearth. “Just add a log, will you? I don’t think it would be presumption. After all, it is your fire.” I did as he said. “Oh, and if friend Bunch should arrive before I’ve done—a contingency, I may say, upon which, if he’s at all like the more prepossessing of our captives, I should hesitate to bet—don’t hold your hand too long. Don’t rush it, of course: but pity the poor decoy.”
With that, he picked up a pen and we made ourselves scarce. . . .
When he had done there was still no sign of Bunch, so I came back to hear the letter and put my name at its foot.
Palin read it through quietly, while I kneeled down beside him with my eyes on the shadows that masked the gallery’s length.
To the steward.
Why was the drawbridge up? I said I should come again.
I am surprised that you should believe what that rascally priest of Haydn chooses to say. He was never at Oxford in his life and had never set eyes upon Harris till three days ago.
I have now removed that impostor.
See that you are ready to receive me when next I come.
John Ferrers.
“All things considered,” said Palin, “I think that should shake them up. As for you, you’ll become a sort of legend. When you make your official appearance, they’ll try and do sacrifice.”
“I think it’s brilliant,” said I.
Then I signed the letter and felt an impostor myself. When Palin had covered and addressed it, he went to keep watch with Hubert for a quarter of an hour, while I stole down to the corner, to see that our prisoners were safe, and then returned to take my ease by the fire.
So we passed the time—two behind the curtains, and one either visiting Stiven or sitting where Punter had sat: but though one o’clock went by, there was no sign of Bunch.
Very soon we began to suspect that he must share Punter’s views on the question of keeping watch and that if we had not interfered, Harris would have had to go seek him and drag him out of his bed. This suspicion was gradually confirmed, but we waited till a quarter past two before, in some disappointment, we decided to give him up. Then we thrust our letter beneath the tall double doors and set about the business of bearing our captives away.
Before we did anything else, we bound their eyes, but I think this precaution was very nearly useless, for we could not disguise the fact that they were to pass downstairs, first within the castle and then without.
Their carriage was a nightmare, and I shall always believe that they tried to make themselves heavy, as I daresay I should have done. Yet we dared not let them walk, lest they should abuse this freedom and manage to break the silence which we were so anxious to keep. Had the drawbridge been down, we could have gone that way and spared ourselves such labour as I should like to forget, but, shocking as was the prospect, there was nothing for it but to take them the way we had come. By the time we had reached the chamber by the side of the postern door, my shoulders were aching so cruelly that I could have wept for the pain: but that was nothing to getting them out of the window and lugging them down the steps.
As soon as we reached the meadows, we set their ankles free, unbound their eyes and pulled the rogues on to their feet: but when we bade them march, they would not obey, and when we laid hands upon them, they threw themselves down on the ground.
The time was now half past three, and since, after crossing the valley, we had to climb up to the road, we were not in the mood to put up with obstruction like that.
“Listen to me,” said Hubert. “You’re going to take this journey, whether you like it or no. If you don’t want to walk, you needn’t. But if you don’t walk, you’ll be dragged.”
With that, he told Stiven to cut two lengths of cord and set these, like halters, about the scoundrels’ necks, “but don’t make slip-knots,” he said. “We don’t want to hang them here.”
This was soon done, but before we could take the strain, they both thought better of their contumacy and scrambled up to their feet.
With the ropes about their necks, we led them across the valley, like captive slaves, and I think I could have pitied even Harris, but for the way he had used us four days before.
Our passage up the side of the mountain will hardly go into words, but I like to think that they suffered as much as we. Before we started, we took the gags from their mouths and bound their wrists before them instead of behind. Then we took the ropes from their necks and set them beneath their arms, “not,” said Palin, “that a halter doesn’t become you. You’ve never looked so attractive since you came out of jail. But you’ve got to go up a precipice, and we’ve no desire to leave your bodies behind.”
“Gawd ’elp,” said Punter, weakly.
“I doubt it,” said Palin, gravely, “but you can always hope. And now you’ve had your bite. Open your mouth again, and back goes the gag.”
Had the way been as steep as it was by the side of the fall, we never could have dragged them up to the road: but after an hour and a half of most exhausting labour we had our way.
Twenty minutes later we were all six in the Rolls, and I was driving for the highway as fast as I dared.
As, tired and stained, we sailed through the lovely country, the world looked twice as handsome as when we had seen it last, and, if we spoke but little, our hearts were gay.
We had, I think, good reason to be content.
It is an old saying that Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark would be a very poor play: and I think it is clear that with the removal of Harris, the play which had been running at Hohenems was bound to come to an end. Even if Bugle and Bunch were not too much dumbfounded to bluster, the temper of the servants would argue the wisdom of leaving the place; while if they held on until Wednesday, Father Herman’s visit to the castle could scarcely be a success. In a word, without the false John Ferrers, the schemes of Harris and Haydn were certain to wither and die.
After a little discussion, we drove direct to the barn which had afforded us shelter that first, black night: there we lodged our prisoners—more than lucky, to my mind, to lie in so pleasant a jail. Though he said no word, such was Harris’ demeanour that we thought it better again to bind his feet: but Punter seeming contrite, we left his ankles free. Stiven remained to guard them, and Hubert gave him his orders before their face.
“Never let up for an instant till we come back. Don’t stand any sort of rot. If they try any tricks, you’re to shoot. If they don’t want to stay here alive, they can stay here dead.”
“Very good, sir,” said Stiven, gravely.
Here I should say that we had been sorely tempted to take the two back to the inn and, telling our host the truth, to thrust them into a cellar until we had determined their fate: but, all things considered, we felt that we had no right so to use so friendly a house, and we could not forget that, when all was said and done, the place was an inn and enjoyed a considerable custom at certain hours of the day.
We were glad of this decision, almost before it was cold.
As I drew up to the forecourt, the innkeeper came out, beaming, to say that he had a new guest. An English lady, who had come by car from Villach, had arrived late the night before. Her maid, he added, had just taken her breakfast upstairs.
His news was disconcerting. Till now the inn had been our lair, where we could talk with freedom and eat and sleep and come and go as we pleased: henceforth it would be a hotel where conventions must be honoured and decencies must be observed. And we had no time for such things. We might hold the winning cards, but the hand had yet to be played. Add to this we were on our last legs. Any sort of distraction . . .
“An English woman?” said Palin. “Oh; give me strength. I don’t want to be lent any Tauchnitz. I’m on the job. Harris is d
own, and we’re coming into the straight: but there’s Bunch or Bugle or both and darling Holy, and—you know, I hate to say it, but I think we’d better breakfast upstairs.”
“Every time,” said Hubert. “I shan’t be able to shave. I’ve got to take over from Stiven within the hour.”
“Take over from Stiven?” said Palin. “You’ll have to drive her to Robin, to get some methylated spirit. I’ll bet you a bucket of beer she makes her own tea.”
They left the Rolls, and I drove the car round to her quarters and put her away.
As I emerged from the coach-house—
“Good morning,” said Lady Olivia. “How did you get on?”
I was so much astonished that I could make her no answer, but only stare like a fool with a hand to my head.
She was standing in the mouth of a window some twelve feet above my head. Her beautiful head was bare, and a flowered-silk dressing-gown was drawn tight about her shoulders and up to her exquisite throat. Her eager lips were smiling, her magnificent eyes were aglow, and the freshness of her appearance was that of the dawn itself. I never saw so rich, yet natural a colouring. The dark of her hair, the white of her skin, the scarlet of her mouth, the delicate rose of her cheeks remembered Solomon’s pen. No words of mine can do her justice, but I know that, as I gazed, again it came into my mind that had she pretended to some throne, she would have inspired a loyalty against which nothing could stand.
An idea lit up my mind, as the beam of a torch.
“You’re the English lady,” I cried.
“That’s right. Olivia Hastings. That was my mother’s name. Don’t give me away, will you?”
I swallowed desperately.
“Of course I won’t,” I said. And then, feebly enough, “I—we never dreamed it was you.”
“Why should you?” said my lady. “If you thought at all, you thought that I was at Haydn. And so I was. But I left there last night for Paris—and here I am.”
“I—I don’t understand,” I stammered.
“It’s very simple,” she said. “I’ve turned my coat.”
“Turned your coat?” I said, staring.
“Turned my coat,” she repeated. “Possibly you may not know it, but Haydn’s doing its damnedest to do you down. I was prepared to fight you—I promise you that. But I’m not prepared to defraud you behind your back. And so I’m through with Haydn and all its works. And—and, if you like to have me, I’m here to come in with you.”
Chapter 5. The Ravell’d Sleave
There was now no reason for breaking our fast in private, and our meal was served, as usual, under the limes. Whilst it was being prepared we bathed and changed, but, though this should have refreshed us, we were all three so jaded that the flesh was past responding to any stimulant. As, I think, was natural, our spirits were very high, but we saw our good fortune darkly because we were half asleep.
Our breakfast was nearly done before Olivia Haydn came out of the inn.
As we got to our feet—
“Well, Andrew,” she said, “how are you? I’m glad to see you again.”
Palin bowed over her fingers. Then he let them go and straightened his back.
“To look upon you.” he said, “is to rise from the dead.”
My lady laughed. Then she turned to Hubert and me.
“Andrew Palin,” she said, “was born out of time. At the court of your Gloriana he would have gained full marks.”
She gave her hand to Hubert and nodded to me. Then she took the head of our table and laid her small hands on the board. As we sat down—.
“Please go on eating,” she said. “I’ve got to talk, but I’ll be as short as I can.” She looked from my cousin to me. “Whether you two know it, I’ve no idea, but the House of Haydn is against you—Haydn has been against you for thirty-five years. We couldn’t get to grips with your great-uncle—perhaps because he knew my uncles better than I. But when at last he died, we proposed to re-enter the lists. The idea was to get possession—possession of Hohenems Castle, either by purchase or lease.
“Well, my uncles got off the mark extremely quick—much too quick for my liking, and I was immensely surprised when they came back on Saturday evening and said they’d got as far as they had.” She turned to me. “Then on Sunday morning I fell in with you.
“Well, when I got back to Haydn, I put my uncles wise. I confess I didn’t spare them, but then they hadn’t spared me the night before. ‘That’s what you get,’ I told them, ‘for rushing in.’ They believed my tale, of course. They couldn’t even pretend to do anything else, for they’d spent their time remarking what a coarse-grained, under-bred fellow the new John Ferrers was. And there, so far as I was concerned, the matter ended. They’d been made fools of by Harris, but, thanks to my meeting with you, I’d been able to stop them being fooled to the top of their bent. The appointment they’d made for Monday was never even discussed. You don’t keep appointments with impostors, which, if you had known they were impostors, you wouldn’t have made. At least, I don’t. Apparently my uncles do.
“They went, as arranged, to Hohenems yesterday afternoon. I never knew it, and they never meant me to know: I only found it out by the merest chance. But I did find it out, and I met them as they came in. I asked them three questions—why they had been to Hohenems, what they had done at Hohenems, and why they had tried to conceal their visit from me. I won’t trouble you with their answers, all of which were palpably false. Even the lies they told didn’t agree together, and when I charged them with using my information to blackmail a common thief into selling his stolen goods at a knock-out price, Uncle Herman was reduced to replying that he should pray for my soul.
“Well, there you are. Through no fault of my own, I’d betrayed you—for if once the property passed, you could say good-bye to your castle for seven years. There was only one thing to be done—try to repair the mischief as best I could. I told my maid to pack and ordered the car to be ready to catch the Paris train. I took this as far as Villach—I had to cover my tracks. And there I left it and hired a car to come here.
“Well, that explains why I came: but it doesn’t explain why, now that I’ve put you wise, I don’t get up and go. If you don’t like your party’s tactics, you can always withdraw: it isn’t necessary to enter the opposite camp. But that, if you like to have me, is what I propose to do. I’ll tell you why. Haydn wants Hohenems badly—but not for the view. Somewhere within those walls there’s something more—more tangible. And after what’s happened, I don’t feel that I can sit still and watch my family profit, or stand any chance of profiting at your expense.”
There was a little silence. Then—
“I told you,” said Palin quietly, “I told you that Lady Olivia would never stoop.”
“I hadn’t seen you then,” I said quickly.
She made no answer, but took her hands from the table and got to her feet.
“My trunks,” she said, “are at Villach. If I don’t stay here, I’ll ask you to drive me there in time for the evening train. Talk my proposal over, and tell me the answer at lunch. I know the great objection—this isn’t a woman’s show.”
With that, she turned to the inn.
Her words took us all by surprise, for we had not dreamed that she would require any assurance of the radiant pride and pleasure we must have betrayed: still Hubert and I were beside her before she had taken three steps. This to no purpose at all, for she dismissed our protests, as though she were engaged upon matters with which they had nothing to do.
“Tell me at lunch,” she said firmly.
As I fell back discomfited—
“We would like you to hear,” said my cousin, “what happened last night.”
My lady hesitated. Then she gave him a dazzling smile.
“I’m wild to hear,” she said. “You must tell me at lunch.”
Since that was her ruling, although we should have been glad to ask her advice, we thrust our fair confederate out of our minds and discussed
how to. round the advantage which we had won at the castle the night before. Though we were all worn out, it was perfectly plain that we could not rest on our oars, for, for one thing only, since we had no dungeon, Harris and Punter were as millstones about our necks.
And here let me beg that before anyone condemns the plans which we made that morning or brands as childish the riddles we failed to solve, he will remember that we could have gone to sleep standing and would not have trusted ourselves to brush a fly from a wall. We should not have been so heavy, but for the air of those parts. This is remarkably strong, and the healthy vapours of the forests will make the most vigilant sleepy before their time. But it found us easy victims, for the night’s work had been no child’s play, and the day before we had driven three hundred miles.
We presently decided to telegraph in German to Hohenems, saying that I should arrive to-morrow morning and bidding the steward prepare the principal rooms: this would give us time to carry Harris and Punter a good way off—to some desolate spot in the Tyrol, from which, if they ever returned, they would return too late to put a spoke in our wheel.
These plans being hastily made, we took the Rolls forthwith and drove to the barn. There we found all in order and Stiven standing like a sentry, for fear of falling asleep if once he sat down. Indeed, his fears were well founded, for when we gave him some food and told him to eat, before he had taken two mouthfuls he was asleep in the hay. My cousin, who was to relieve him, was just as tired, but so, for the matter of that, were Palin and I, yet take our rest we dared not, for now the iron was hot and, come what might, we must strike it before it grew cold.
Then Palin and I drove to Robin, to send off our telegram, and we did not do so badly, for we took the wheel by turns, and the one who was not driving slept like a log. It follows that when, some three hours later, we came again to. the barn, we were not quite so jaded as when we had left, but Hubert, who had let Stiven lie, was ready to drop in his tracks.
Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante Page 8