Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  We had forgotten that she could not understand English. But this did not serve her; for without a pause Mistress Anne turned to her, and unfalteringly said something in her scanty Dutch which came to the same thing. A word or two of questioning and explanation followed. Then the meaning of the accusation dawned at last on Dymphna’s mind. I looked for an outburst of tears or protestations. Instead, with a glance of wonder and great scorn, with a single indignant widening of her beautiful eyes, she replied by a curt Dutch sentence.

  “What does she say?” my lady exclaimed eagerly.

  “She says,” replied Master Lindstrom, who was looking on gravely, “that it is a base lie, madam.”

  On that we became spectators. It seemed to me, and I think to all of us, that the two girls stood apart from us in a circle of light by themselves; confronting one another with sharp glances as though a curtain had been raised from between them, and they saw one another in their true colors and recognized some natural antagonism, or, it might be, some rivalry each in the other. I think I was not peculiar in feeling this, for we all kept silence for a space as though expecting something to follow. In the middle of this silence there came a low rapping at the door.

  One uttered a faint shriek; another stood as if turned to stone. The Duchess cried for her child. The rest of us looked at one another. Midnight was past. Who could be abroad, who could want us at this hour? As a rule we should have been in bed and asleep long ago. We had no neighbors save the cotters on the far side of the island. We knew of no one likely to arrive at this time with any good intent.

  “I will open,” said Master Lindstrom. But he looked doubtfully at the women-folk as he said it.

  “One minute,” whispered the Duchess. “That table is solid and heavy. Could you not — —”

  “Put it across the door?” concluded her husband. “Yes, we will.” And it was done at once, the two men — my lady would not let me help — so arranging it that it prevented the door being opened to its full width.

  “That will stop a rush,” said Master Bertie with satisfaction.

  It did strengthen the position, yet it was a nervous moment when our host prepared to lower the bar. “Who is there?” he cried loudly.

  We waited, listening and looking at one another, the fear of arrest and the horrors of the Inquisition looming large in the minds of some of us at least. The answer, when it came, did not reassure us. It was uttered in a voice so low and muffled that we gained no information, and rather augured treachery the more. I remember noticing how each took the crisis; how Mistress Anne’s face was set hard, and her breath came in jerks; how Dymphna, pale and trembling, seemed yet to have eyes only for her father; how the Duchess faced the entrance like a queen at bay. All this I took in at a glance. Then my gaze returned to Master Lindstrom, as he dropped the bar with a jerk. The door was pushed open at once as far as it would go. A draught of cold air came in, and with it Van Tree. He shut the door behind him.

  Never were six people so taken aback as we were. But the newcomer, whose face was flushed with haste and excitement, observed nothing. Apparently he saw nothing unexpected even in our presence downstairs at that hour, nothing hostile or questioning in the half circle of astonished faces turned toward him. On the contrary, he seemed pleased. “Ah!” he exclaimed gutturally. “It is well! You are up! You have taken the alarm!”

  It was to me he spoke, and I was so surprised by that, and by his sudden appearance, so dumfounded by his easy address and the absence of all self-consciousness on his part, so struck by a change in him, that I stared in silence. I could not believe that this was the same half-shy, half-fierce young man who had flung away a few hours before in a passion of jealousy. My theory that he was the assassin seemed on a sudden extravagant, though here he was on the spot. When Master Lindstrom asked, “Alarm! What alarm?” I listened for his answer as I should have listened for the answer of a friend and ally, without hesitation, without distrust. For in truth the man was transfigured; changed by the rise of something to the surface which ordinarily lay hid in him. Before, he had seemed churlish, awkward, a boor. But in this hour of our need and of his opportunity he showed himself as he was. Action and purpose lifted him above his outward seeming. I caught the generous sparkle in his eye, and trusted him.

  “What!” he said, keeping his voice low. “You do not know? They are coming to arrest you. Their plan is to surround the house before daybreak. Already there is a boat lying in the river watching the landing-stage.”

  “Whom are they coming to arrest?” I asked. The others were silent, looking at this strange messenger with mingled feelings.

  “All, I fear,” he replied. “You, too, Master Lindstrom. Some one has traced your English friends hither and informed against you. I know not on what ground you are included, but I fear the worst. There is not a moment to be lost if you would escape by the bridge, before the troop who are on the way to guard it arrives.”

  “The landing-stage, you say, is already watched?” our host asked, his phlegmatic coolness showing at its best. His eyes roved round the room, and he tugged, as was his habit when deep in thought, at his beard. I felt sure that he was calculating which of his possessions he could remove.

  “Yes,” Van Tree answered. “My father got wind of the plan in Arnheim. An English envoy arrived there yesterday on his way to Cleves or some part of Germany. It is rumored that he has come out of his road to inquire after certain English fugitives whom his Government are anxious to seize. But come, we have no time to lose! Let us go!”

  “Do you come too?” Master Lindstrom said, pausing in the act of turning away. He spoke in Dutch, but by some inspiration born of sympathy I understood both his question and the answer.

  “Yes, I come. Where Dymphna goes I go, and where she stops I stop, though it be at Madrid itself,” the young man answered gallantly. His eyes kindled, and he seemed to grow taller and to gain majesty. The barrier of race, which had hindered me from viewing him fairly before, fell in a trice. I felt now only a kindly sorrow that he had done this noble thing, and not I. I went to him and grasped his hand; and though I said nothing, he seemed, after a single start of surprise, to understand me fully. He understood me even better, if that were possible, an hour later, when Dymphna had told him of her adventure with the Spaniard, and he came to me to thank me.

  Ordered myself to be idle, I found all busy round me, busy with a stealthy diligence. Master Lindstrom was packing his plate. Dymphna, pale, but with soft, happy eyes — for had she not cause to be proud? — was preparing food and thick clothing. The Duchess had fetched her child and was dressing it for the journey. Master Bertie was collecting small matters, and looking to our arms. In one or other of these occupations — I can guess in which — Van Tree was giving his aid. And so, since the Duchess would not let me do anything, it chanced that presently I found myself left alone for a few minutes with Anne.

  I was not watching her. I was gnawing my nails in a fit of despondency, reflecting that I was nothing but a hindrance and a drawback to my friends, since whenever a move had to be made I was sure to be invalided, when I became aware, through some mysterious sense, that my companion, who was kneeling on the floor behind me, packing, had desisted from her work and was gazing fixedly at me. I turned. Yes, she was looking at me; her eyes, in which a smoldering fire seemed to burn, contrasting vividly with her pale face and contracted brows. When she saw that I had turned — of which at first she did not seem aware — she rose and came to me, and laid a hand on my shoulder and leaned over me. A feeling that was very like fright fell upon me, her manner was so strange. “What is it?” I stammered, as she still pored on me in silence, still maintained her attitude. “What is the matter, Anne?”

  “Are you quite a fool?” she whispered, her voice almost a hiss, her hot breath on my cheek. “Have you no sense left, that you trust that man?”

  For a moment I failed to understand her. “What man?” I said. “Oh, Van Tree!”

  “Ay, Van Tree! Who else
? Will you go straight into the trap he has laid for you?” She moistened her lips with her tongue, as though they were parched. “You are all mad! Mad, I think! Don’t you see,” she continued, stooping over me again and whispering hurriedly, her wild eyes close to mine, “that he is jealous of you?”

  “He was,” I said uneasily. “That is all right now.”

  “He was? He is!” she retorted. “He went away wild with you. He comes back smiling and holding out his hand. Do you trust him? Don’t you see — don’t you see,” she cried, rocking me to and fro with her hand in her excitement, “that he is fooling you? He is leading us all into a trap that has been laid carefully enough. What is this tale of an English envoy on his way to Germany? Rubbish! Rubbish, I tell you.”

  “But Clarence — —”

  “Bah! It was all your fancy!” she cried fiercely, her eyes for the moment flitting to the door, then returning to my face. “How should he find us here? Or what has Clarence to do with an English envoy?”

  “I do not know,” I said. She had not in the least persuaded me. In a rare moment I had seen into Van Tree’s soul and trusted him implicitly. “Please take care,” I added, wincing under her hand. “You hurt me!”

  She sprang back with a sudden change of countenance as if I had struck her, and for a moment cowered away from me, her former passion still apparent fighting for the mastery in her face. I set down her condition to terror at the plight we were all in, or to vexation that no one would take her view. The next moment I went farther. I thought her mad, when she turned abruptly from me and, flying to the door by which Van Tree had entered, began with trembling fingers to release the pin which confined the bar.

  “Stop! stop! you will ruin all!” I cried in horror. “They can see that door from the river, and if they see the light, they will know we are up and have taken the alarm; and they may make a dash to secure us. Stop, Anne! Stop!” I cried. But the girl was deaf. She tugged desperately at the pin, and had already loosened the bar when I caught her by the arms, and, pushing her away, set my back against the door. “Don’t be foolish!” I said gently. “You have lost your head. You must let us men settle these things, Anne.”

  She was indeed beside herself, for she faced me during a second or two as though she would spring upon me and tear me from the door. Her hands worked, her eyes gleamed, her strong white teeth showed themselves. I shuddered. I had never pictured her looking like that. Then, as steps sounded on the stairs and cheerful voices — cheerful they seemed to me as they broke in on that strange scene — drew nearer, she turned, and walking deliberately to a seat, fell to weeping hysterically.

  “What are you doing to that door?” cried the Duchess sharply, as she entered with the others. I was securing the bar again.

  “Nothing,” I said stolidly. “I am seeing that it is fast.”

  “And hoity toity, miss!” she continued, turning to Anne. “What has come over you, I would like to know? Stop crying, girl; what is the matter with you? Will you shame us all before this Dutch maid? Here, carry these things to the back door.”

  Anne somehow stifled her sobs and rose. Seeming by a great effort to recover composure, she went out, keeping her face to the last averted from me.

  We all followed, variously laden, Master Lindstrom and Van Tree, who carried between them the plate-chest, being the last to leave. There was not one of us — even of us who had only known the house a few weeks — who did not heave a sigh as we passed out of the warm lamp-lit parlor, which, littered as it was with the debris of packing, looked still pleasant and comfortable in comparison with the darkness outside and the uncertain future before us. What, then, must have been the pain of parting to those who had never known any other home? Yet they took it bravely. To Dymphna, Van Tree’s return had brought great happiness. To Master Lindstrom, any ending to a long series of anxieties and humiliations was welcome. To Van Tree — well, he had Dymphna with him, and his side of the plate-chest was heavy, and gave him ample employment.

  We passed out silently through the back door, leaving the young Dutchman to lock it behind us, and flitted, a line of gliding shadows, through the orchard. It was two o’clock, the sky was overcast, a slight drizzle was falling. Once an alarm was given that we were being followed; and we huddled together, and stood breathless, a clump of dark figures gazing affrightedly at the tree trunks which surrounded us, and which seemed — at least to the women’s eyes — to be moving, and to be men closing in on us. But the alarm was groundless, and with no greater mishap than a few stumbles when we came to the slippery edge of the creek, we reached the boat, and one by one, admirably ordered by our host, got in and took our seats. Van Tree and Master Lindstrom pushed us off; then they swung themselves in and paddled warily along, close under the bank, where the shadows of the poplars fell across us, and our figures blended darkly with the line of rushes on the shore.

  CHAPTER XII.

  ANNE’S PETITION.

  We coasted along in this silent fashion, nearly as far as the hamlet and bridge, following, but farther inshore, the course which Master Lindstrom and I had taken when on our way to bury the Spaniard. A certain point gained, at a signal from our host we struck out into the open, and rowed swiftly toward the edge of the marsh. This was the critical moment; but, so far as we could learn, our passage was unnoticed. We reached the fringe of rushes; with a prolonged hissing sound the boat pushed through them; a flight of water-fowl rose, whirring and clapping about us, and we floated out into a dim misty lake, whose shores and surface stretched away on every side, alike dark, shifting, and uncertain.

  Across this the Dutchman steered us, bringing us presently to a narrow opening, through which we glided into a second and smaller mere. At the farther end of this one the way seemed barred by a black, impenetrable wall of rushes, which rose far above our heads. But the tall stems bent slowly with many a whispered protest before our silent onset, and we slid into a deep water-lane, here narrow, there widening into a pool, in one place dark, in another reflecting the gray night sky. Down this we sped swiftly, the sullen plash of the oars and the walls of rushes always with us. For ourselves, we crouched still and silent, shivering and listening for sounds of pursuit; now starting at the splash of a frog, again shuddering at the cry of a night-bird. The Duchess, her child, and I were in the bows, Master Lindstrom, his daughter, and Mistress Anne in the stern. They had made me comfortable with the baggage and some warm coverings, and would insist on treating me as helpless. Even when the others began to talk in whispers, the Duchess enjoined silence on me, and bade me sleep. Presently I did so, my last impression one of unending water-ways and shoreless, shadowy lakes.

  When I awoke the sun was high and the scene was changed indeed. We lay on the bosom of a broad river, our boat seeming now to stand still as the sail flapped idly, now to heel over and shoot forward as the light breeze struck us. The shores abreast of us were still low and reedy, but ahead the slopes of green wooded hills rose gently from the stream. Master Bertie was steering, and, seeing me lift my head, greeted me with a smile. The girls in the stern were covered up and asleep. Amidships, too, Master Lindstrom and Van Tree had curled themselves up between the thwarts, and were slumbering peacefully. I turned to look for the Duchess, and found her sitting wide awake at my elbow, her eyes on her husband.

  “Well,” she said smiling, “do you feel better now? You have had a good sleep.”

  “How long have I been asleep, please?” I asked, bewildered by the sunshine, by the shining river and the green hills, by the fresh morning air, by the change in everything; and answering in a question, as people freshly aroused do nine times out of ten. “Where are we?”

  “You have been asleep nearly six hours, and we are on the Rhine, near Emmerich,” she answered, smiling. She was pale, and the long hours of watching had drawn dark circles round her eyes. But the old undaunted courage shone in them still, and her smile was as sweet as ever.

  “Have we passed the frontier?” I asked eagerly.

&n
bsp; “Well, nearly,” she answered. “But how does your wound feel?”

  “Rather stiff and sore,” I said ruefully, after making an experiment by moving my body to and fro. “And I am very thirsty, but I could steer.”

  “So you shall,” she said. “Only first eat something. We broke our fast before the others lay down. There is bread and meat behind you, and some hollands and water in the bottle.”

  I seized the latter and drank greedily. Then, finding myself hungry now I came to think about it, I fell upon the eatables.

  “You will do now, I think,” she said, when she had watched me for some time.

  I laughed for answer, pleased that the long dark night, its gloom and treachery were past. But its memories remained and presently I said, “If Van Tree did not try to kill me — and I am perfectly sure he did not — —”

  “So am I,” she said. “We were all wrong.”

  “Then,” I continued, looking at her gravely, “who did? that is the question. And why?”

  “You are sure that it was not the Spaniard whom you hurt in defense of Dymphna?” my lady asked.

  “Quite sure.”

  “And sure that it was not Clarence?” she persisted.

  “Quite sure. It was a short man,” I explained again, “and dressed in a cloak. That is all I can tell about him.”

  “It might be some one employed by Clarence,” she suggested, her face gloomy, her brows knit.

  “True, I had not thought of that,” I answered. “And it reminds me. I have heard so much of Clarence — —”

  “And seen some little — even that little more than was good for you.”

  “Yes, he has had the better of me, on both occasions,” I allowed. “But I was going to ask you,” I continued, “to tell me something about him. He was your steward, I know. But how did he come to you? How was it you trusted him?”