Suddenly she started to her feet.
She had descried the Count de Bellegarde coming towards them along the parade, and without another word, hurried down to the gloomy archway, and disappeared.
“I hope I have not interrupted a tête-à-tête,” exclaimed the count, as he came up.
“You have prevented me from learning a secret, count, that is all,” replied Talbot.
“A secret! — that’s a pity! One comes to the Tower to learn State secrets.”
“That was your own errand, I suppose, count?”
“Yes; and I have learnt two or three important secrets since I have been here — secrets worth knowing, I can promise you. Are you for Whitehall? or do you mean to sleep at the Tower?”
“I am with you,” replied Talbot.
And they quitted the fortress together.
An hour later, Parson Price and his companions took boat at the Tower Wharf, and proceeded to Whitefriars. As they passed the guard-chamber, the parson perceived Kenelm, and stopping for a moment to chat with him, learnt that his daughter had been at the Tower that evening.
Concealing his anger, the parson merely observed, “She was too unwell to join the party at the Jewel Tower, so she wrote an excuse to my cousin Edwards.”
“Yes; I took the letter,” replied the warder; “and I remarked that the young lady looked unwell.”
“She has endeavored to betray us,” mentally ejaculated the parson, as he walked on. “Luckily, the design has failed. I will take good care she shall make no more mischief.”
CHAPTER XII
SABINE THREATENS TO REVEAL THE SCHEME
Sabine was alone in the large, gloomy room of the old house at Whitefriars.
She was seated near the table, on which a lamp was placed, and her looks betokened the greatest mental distress. Rousing herself, at last, she took up the light, and was about to proceed to her own chamber, when her father and his companions entered from the outer door. Mandeville also was with them.
Blood had already disencumbered himself of his gown and cassock; he flung them down on a chair as he came in. His infuriated looks terrified Sabine, and she would have escaped; but he roughly seized her arm, and dragged her back.
“Traitress!” he exclaimed, fiercely. “What fiend prompted you to this insane act. “not your fault that I and my comrades are not now laden with fetters in the dungeons of the Tower. What led you to betray us? Speak!”
“I only wished to put the good old man on his guard, father.”
“And, by so doing, jeopardize my life. Unnatural girl! Had you succeeded in rousing the old man’s suspicions, all had been over with me and my comrades, and the grandest scheme ever planned would have been marred. I hoped it had been some wild impulse to which you had yielded, without thought of the consequences; but I find it was a deliberate act. Truly, I have nourished a serpent in my bosom, to sting me.”
“Never, till now, have I been disobedient to you, father. I have taken part — reluctantly enough, as you know — in numberless schemes in which you have engaged; but this is a crime so monstrous, that my soul revolts against it. When I saw that good old man, my heart was suddenly changed. He will die if you deprive him of his treasures.”
“What are the treasures to him?” cried Blood, contemptuously. “I will make him richer than he has ever yet been in his life.”
“And I intend to wed his daughter Edith,” observed Montalt. “She is a wonderfully fine girl, and will just suit me. The old gentleman and his wife shall live with us at the Hague.”
“You judge him by yourselves,” said Sabine. “He will never survive the blow you are about to inflict upon him. May heaven avert it!”
At this moment the secret door near the chimney-piece flew open, and Claude Duval stepped forth.
A glance at the group told him what was passing.
Quitting Sabine, Blood took him aside, and they conferred together for a few minutes, in a low tone. During this interval Sabine watched him anxiously. At last Duval stepped towards her.
“I see you are angry with me,” she said, in a deprecatory tone. “But I could not help what I have done. I would save my father from a great crime.”
“You have been suddenly conscience-stricken, it appears,” observed Duval, coldly. “But why make Talbot Harland your father-confessor?”
“I have told him nothing, as yet; but I will disclose all, unless the scheme is abandoned.”
A peculiar smile played upon Duval’s features.
“Your candor is charming,” he cried. “You shall tell him whatever you please, if you can find an opportunity of conversing with him again.”
“Then you mean to keep me a prisoner here?” she exclaimed.
“Your father will take such steps as he may deem consistent with his safety,” observed Duval.
“Well, I will do my best to elude his vigilance.”
“Then you are resolved to betray us? Say so frankly. You will not greatly alarm me.”
“I will not betray you. But take care you do not betray yourself. Do not go to the Tower again.”
“Hum!” muttered Duval, as if struck by the counsel. “That may not be bad advice, after all.”
He then rejoined Blood, who was standing at a little distance, watching them, and said, in a low tone, “She is determined to thwart our project. Nothing I can say will turn her from her purpose. Keep her a close prisoner till the affair is accomplished.”
“It shall be done,” replied Blood. “I would send her on board the schooner I have hired, but the skipper won’t be ready till to-morrow.”
“She will be far safer here,” said Duval. “But let her be carefully watched. She has told me she will escape if she can.”
“What the plague can have taken possession of her?” muttered Blood. “She has never before turned rebellious, and now she falls from me at the most important crisis of my life.”
““well she has not done more mischief,” said Duval.
“But Talbot Harland’s suspicions may be aroused by what she has said to him, and some slight circumstance may lead to the discovery of the design. Are your preparations sufficiently made to enable you to strike the blow at once?”
“I would rather delay it for a few days.”
“The delay will be fraught with danger. You cannot improve your position with the old custodian and his family. You have gained their confidence, and may lose it by some inadvertence. You have had a narrow escape to-day. Who knows what may happen to-morrow?”
“Ay, who knows?” echoed Blood. “But by to-morrow night, I trust, I shall have got possession of the jewels, for I will strike the blow, prepared or not prepared.”
“Well resolved,” cried Duval. “You do not require further aid from me. I do not wish to be mixed up with the enterprise.”
“You have done quite enough,” said Blood. “Leave all the rest to me. I am not sorry you have forced me to take immediate action, for this important affair has been weighing heavily on my mind.”
“One last word of advice. Take good care of Sabine. She is your chief danger.”
“Have no fear of her. She shall not leave this place of refuge till the affair is over, and I can take her with me, on board the schooner. Then ho! for Holland.”
“For Holland ho! where we shall next meet,” rejoined Duval. —
All this time Sabine had been watching him, and seeing he was departing without bidding her adieu, she rushed towards him, and flung herself into his arms.
“Have you no longer any love for me?” she cried, passionately.
“I love you better than life.”
“Prove it, by abandoning this scheme.”
“You must talk to your father, sweetheart. All rests now with him. I have nothing more to do with it. Take her, sir.”
And disengaging himself gently from her embrace, he consigned her to Blood, and passed through the secret door.
CHAPTER XIII
SABINE ATTEMPTS TO ESCAPE
�
��Now, father, I must have a word with you, “ said Sabine.
“I will have no further conversation with you to-night,” he rejoined, sternly. “You have displeased me greatly. Take your supper instantly, and get to your chamber.”
“I do not require supper.”
“As you please. But mark what I say!” he cried, with increasing sternness. “You will not leave your chamber till to-morrow night!”
“Not till to-morrow night?”
“Perhaps not then! So take with you all you need.”
“I want nothing!” she rejoined.
“Nonsense! I shall not allow you to starve yourself. Put up some eatables and a flask of wine in a basket, “ he said to Flodoard.
The order was promptly obeyed by the young man, who placed a cold fowl, bread, and some other matters in a basket, which he gave to his leader.
“Anything more? “ asked Flodoard.
“Have you enough?” demanded Blood.
“More than enough,” she rejoined.
“Come, then, to your chamber,” he cried, mounting the staircase, which creaked beneath his heavy footsteps.
Sabine’s bed-chamber was the best in the house, but little could be said in its praise. It was large, low-roofed, sombre, and scantily furnished. Setting down the basket of provisions on the table, her father said:
“You have to thank yourself that you will be kept a prisoner here. Good-night.”
Casting a hasty glance round the room, he then went out, locked the door carefully, and took away the key.
Sabine smiled at this precaution, knowing that she could easily defeat it.
The house, as we have said, was full of strange contrivances, and this room had a secret outlet, which she had discovered.
Her father had not been gone more than half an hour when she ventured forth, and crept stealthily to the head of the staircase.
But it was impossible to descend it unperceived. Blood and his comrades were carousing, and it would seem from their talk that they had no immediate intention of retiring to rest. She therefore returned to her own room.
An hour later she made a second attempt. The sounds of revelry were not so loud as they had previously been, but she heard her father’s deep voice as he gave instructions to the others.
“Besides the other articles I have specified,” he said, “we shall need a mallet and a file, and a couple of large bags, such as lawyers are wont to carry.”
“A mallet is an awkward implement to hide,” remarked Montalt, “and not the sort of thing that a gentleman usually carries about with him. Cannot we dispense with it?”
“Impossible! You will find out its use to-morrow.”
“I am to remain with the horses at the foot of Tower Hill. Is it not so, colonel? “ demanded Mandeville.
“Ay,” replied Blood. “I hope we maybe able to embark quietly with the booty at the Tower Wharf, and go on board the schooner; but, in the event of alarm, we must ride off in different directions.”
Sabine heard no more. Returning to her room, she remained there for another hour, when she ventured forth again.
Finding all still below, she took a few cautious steps down the staircase.
The lamp wanted trimming, but, dim as it was, it showed plainly enough that the whole party were fast asleep. Her father was slumbering in the arm-chair, and breathing deeply.
She continued to descend slowly; but, in spite of her care, the stairs creaked, and Blood, who was easily aroused, started up.
“Who’s that?” he vociferated, fancying he saw someone dart up-stairs.
“What’s the matter, colonel?” cried Montalt, wakening up, and rubbing his eyes.
“Methought I saw Sabine on the stairs,” rejoined Blood; “but that’s impossible. I have the key of her door in my pocket. However, I’ll satisfy myself at once.”
Snatching up the lamp, he hurried up-stairs. Sabine’s door was fastened precisely as he had left it. He listened for a moment, but could hear no sound within.
He did not unlock the door, but rapped sharply against it with his knuckles. His daughter immediately called out, and on hearing her voice, he felt sure all was right, and went back tranquilly.
Sabine made no further attempt to escape, but waited patiently till morning.
CHAPTER XIV
SABINE HAS AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING
When morn came, Sabine thought she should have a visit from her father, nor was she mistaken. He brought her some breakfast; but observing that she had not touched the viands that he had laid on the table overnight, he said, with a sneer:
“Soh, you are resolved to fast, I perceive. I did not enjoin the penance; but since you are practising it, I may remark that a little mortification of the body will do you good, and make you more obedient. I am sorry to deal harshly with you, Sabine,” he added, somewhat softening his tone; “but you compel me to do so. You will remain here a prisoner during the day; but at night I will send Mandeville for you, or come myself. Have you aught to say to me?”
“Only to implore you to abandon this wicked design, father.”
“No more of this,” he cried, impatiently; “or you will rekindle my anger against you.”
“Perhaps we may never meet again, father,” pleaded Sabine.
“Tut! tut! we shall meet again ere many hours, and then you will talk to me in a very different strain. Farewell!”
“Farewell forever, father!”
Blood looked at her for a moment, as if struggling with conflicting feelings. But his heart was hardened. Dashing out of the room, he locked the door outside, and took the key with him as before.
Sabine ventured forth every now and then, but her patience was most severely tried; for it was not till near eleven o’clock that she became convinced that the whole party were gone.
She had already made such changes in her attire as would enable her to present herself fittingly to Dorinda. Consequently there was nothing now to detain her; but the outer door having been locked by Blood, she was obliged to make her exit through the sliding panel near the chimney-piece, and thread the vaulted labyrinth so frequently tracked by Duval.
This brought her eventually to the river-side, where she quickly hired a wherry, and was conveyed in it to Whitehall stairs. Her features being concealed by a hood, she did not fear recognition or molestation.
She found her way without difficulty, though not without some delay, to Dorinda’s apartments in the palace. A page, who was in attendance in the gallery appropriated to the maids of honor, conducted her to them. She was admitted at once, for Dorinda was expecting her.
Though she had resolved to make a full disclosure of the scheme, Sabine was at first so much agitated that she could scarcely speak; but when she had in some degree recovered her composure, the details she entered into filled her hearer with astonishment and alarm.
Dorinda saw at once the imminence of the peril. But what was to be done? After a moment’s reflection, she summoned the page, and despatched him at once with a message to the king, beseeching his majesty to grant her an immediate audience on a matter of the utmost import.
“You must accompany me to the king, and tell him all,” she said to Sabine.
The unhappy damsel had now become so much terrified, that she would have retreated had it been possible; but Dorinda strove to reassure her by representing that she had a paramount duty to perform, before which every other consideration must give way. She was still employing these arguments, though with indifferent success, when Talbot Harland presented himself.
On seeing him, Sabine immediately sprang to her feet, and with an energy that startled both him and Dorinda, cried, “Go to the Tower at once. You may yet be in time. Go to the Jewel Tower, and remain there. Do not ask for any explanation. Go at once.”
“Is this madness?” demanded Talbot, gazing at Dorinda.
“No,” she replied, with an earnestness that carried conviction with it. “Do her bidding. She has good reason for giving you the order. A daring atte
mpt is about to be made to carry off the Crown jewels.”
“There is yet time to prevent it,” cried Sabine.
“Heaven grant I may not be too late!” cried Talbot, appalled by the magnitude of the danger.
Scarcely knowing how he got there, he found himself in another minute at the palace stairs; and springing into a four-oared wherry, ordered the watermen to row to the Tower.
“Row for your lives!” he repeated. ““his majesty’s business.”
The oars were instantly plunged into the stream, and the boat shot off like an arrow from a bow. Luckily, the tide was running swiftly down.
Shortly after Talbot’s departure, the page returned, accompanied by Chiffinch, who brought a very gracious response from his majesty.
The two damsels were then conducted by the confidential valet through a private passage to the king’s apartments.
Charles was in his cabinet, seated in an easy chair, and ruminating upon various matters — his sole companions being some half-dozen long-eared spaniels. He was just setting out to the tennis-court, when Dorinda’s message stopped him, for he was too good-natured to refuse her the audience she requested.
Nothing could equal his surprise when she was ushered into his presence, accompanied by Sabine. He immediately rose to receive them, and prevented them from making the profound reverence they contemplated.
Chiffinch, the discreet, having performed his office, immediately retired.
“I fancy you have some favor to ask of me in behalf of this fair damsel,” he said, glancing at Sabine, who remained timidly in the background. “Do not hesitate to prefer it. “granted ere asked.”
““not a favor she solicits, sire,” replied Dorinda. “She has a most important disclosure to make to your majesty.”
“Ah, sire,” exclaimed Sabine, rushing forward, and throwing herself at the king’s feet; “your majesty has seen through my heart. I have, indeed, a great boon to ask of you.”
“In return for the revelation you are about to make? Ha!” cried Charles. “Well, name the boon?”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 606