Lord Tony's Wife: An Adventure of the Scarlet Pimpernel

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE ENGLISH ADVENTURERS

  I

  It was with that muffled din still ringing in her ear and with theconception of all that was going on, on the other side of the partition,standing like an awesome spectre of evil before her mind, that Yvonnewoke to the consciousness that her father was dead.

  He lay along the last half-dozen steps of a narrow wooden staircasewhich had its base in the narrow, cupboard-like landing on to which theLemoines had just thrust them both. Through a small heart-shaped holecut in the door of the partition-wall, a shaft of feeble light struckstraight across to the foot of the stairs: it lit up the recumbentfigure of the last of the ducs de Kernogan, killed in a brawl in a houseof evil fame.

  Weakened by starvation, by the hardships of the past few days, hisconstitution undermined by privations and mayhap too by gnawing remorse,he had succumbed to the stunning blow dealt to him by a half drunkenbrute. His cry: "Yvonne! _A moi!_" was the last despairing call of asoul racked with remorse to the daughter whom he had so cruelly wronged.

  When first that feeble shaft of light had revealed to her the presenceof that inert form upon the steps, she had struggled to her feetand--dazed--had tottered up to it. Even before she had touched the face,the hands, before she had bent her ear to the half-closed mouth andfailed to catch the slightest breath, she knew the full extent of hermisery. The look in the wide-open eyes did not terrify her, but theytold her the truth, and since then she had cowered beside her deadfather on the bottom step of the narrow stairs, her fingers tightlyclosed over that one hand which never would be raised against her.

  An unspeakable sense of horror filled her soul. The thought that he--theproud father, the haughty aristocrat, should lie like this and in such aspot, dragged in and thrown down--no doubt by Lemoine--like a parcel ofrubbish and left here to be dragged away again and thrown again like adog into some unhallowed ground--that thought was so horrible, somonstrous, that at first it dominated even sorrow. Then came theheartrending sense of loneliness. Yvonne Dewhurst had endured so muchthese past few days that awhile ago she would have affirmed that nothingcould appal her in the future. But this was indeed the awful andoverwhelming climax to what had already been a surfeit of misery.

  This! she, Yvonne, cowering beside her dead father, with no one to standbetween her and any insult, any outrage which might be put upon her,with nothing now but a few laths between her and that yelling,screeching mob outside.

  Oh! the loneliness! the utter, utter loneliness!

  She kissed the inert hand, the pale forehead: with gentle, reverentfingers she tried to smooth out those lines of horror and of fear whichgave such a pitiful expression to the face. Of all the wrongs which herfather had done her she never thought for a moment. It was he who hadbrought her to this terrible pass: he who had betrayed her into thehands of her deadliest enemy: he who had torn her from the protectingarms of her dear milor and flung her and himself at the mercy of a setof inhuman wretches who knew neither compunction nor pity.

  But all this she forgot, as she knelt beside the lifeless form--the lastthing on earth that belonged to her--the last protection to which shemight have clung.

  II

  Out of the confusion of sounds which came--deadened by the interveningpartition--to her ear, it was impossible to distinguish anything veryclearly. All that Yvonne could do, as soon as she had in a measurecollected her scattered senses, was to try and piece together the eventsof the last few minutes--minutes which indeed seemed like days and evenyears to her.

  Instinctively she gave to the inert hand which she held an additionaltender touch. At any rate her father was out of it all. He was at restand at peace. As for the rest, it was in God's hands. Having onlyherself to think of now, she ceased to care what became of her. He wasout of it all: and those wretches after all could not do more than killher. A complete numbness of senses and of mind had succeeded thefeverish excitement of the past few hours: whether hope still survivedat this moment in Yvonne Dewhurst's mind it were impossible to say.Certain it is that it lay dormant--buried beneath the overwhelmingmisery of her loneliness.

  She took the fichu from her shoulders and laid it reverently over thedead man's face: she folded the hands across the breast. She could notcry: she could only pray, and that quite mechanically.

  The thought of her dear milor, of his clever friend, of the messagewhich she had received in prison, of the guide who had led her to thisawful place, was relegated--almost as a memory--in the furthermost cellof her brain.

  III

  But after awhile outraged nature, still full of vitality and of youth,re-asserted itself. She felt numb and cold and struggled to her feet.From somewhere close to her a continuous current of air indicated thepresence of some sort of window. Yvonne, faint with the close and sicklysmell, which even that current failed to disperse, felt her way allround the walls of the narrow landing.

  The window was in the wall between the partition and the staircase, itwas small and quite low down. It was crossed with heavy iron bars.Yvonne leaned up against it, grateful for the breath of pure air.

  For awhile yet she remained unconscious of everything save the confuseddin which still went on inside the tavern, and at first the sounds whichcame through the grated window mingled with those on the other side ofthe partition. But gradually as she contrived to fill her lungs with thecold breath of heaven, it seemed as if a curtain was being slowly drawnaway from her atrophied senses.

  Just below the window two men were speaking. She could hear them quitedistinctly now--and soon one of the voices--clearer than theother--struck her ear with unmistakable familiarity.

  "I told Paul Friche to come out here and speak to me," Yvonne heard thatsame voice say.

  "Then he should be here," replied the other, "and if I am notmistaken...."

  There was a pause, and then the first voice was raised again.

  "Halt! Is that Paul Friche?"

  "At your service, citizen," came in reply.

  "Well! Is everything working smoothly inside?"

  "Quite smoothly; but your Englishmen are not there."

  "How do you know?"

  "Bah! I know most of the faces that are to be found inside the Rat Mortat this hour: there are no strangers among them."

  The voice that had sounded so familiar to Yvonne was raised now in loudand coarse laughter.

  "Name of a dog! I never for a moment thought that there were anyEnglishmen about. Citizen Chauvelin was suffering from nightmare."

  "It is early yet," came in response from a gentle bland voice, "you musthave patience, citizen."

  "Patience? Bah!" ejaculated the other roughly. "As I told you before'tis but little I care about your English spies. 'Tis the Kernogans I aminterested in. What have you done with them, citizen?"

  "I got that blundering fool Lemoine to lock them up on the landing atthe bottom of the stairs."

  "Is that safe?"

  "Absolutely. It has no egress save into the tap-room and up the stairs,to the rooms above. Your English spies if they came now would have tofly in and out of those top windows ere they could get to the aristos."

  "Then in Satan's name keep them there awhile," urged the more gentle,insinuating voice, "until we can make sure of the English spies."

  "Tshaw! What foolery!" interjected the other, who appeared to be in atowering passion. "Bring them out at once, citizen Friche ... bringthem out ... right into the middle of the rabble in the tap-room....Commandant Fleury is directing the perquisition--he is taking down thenames of all that cattle which he is arresting inside the premises--letthe ci-devant duc de Kernogan and his exquisite daughter figure amongthe vilest cut-throats of Nantes."

  "Citizen, let me urge on you once more ..." came in earnest persuasiveaccents from that gentle voice.

  "Nothing!" broke in the other savagely. "To h----ll with your Englishspies. It is the Kernogans that I want."

  Yvonne, half-crazed with horror, had heard the whole of this abominableconversation
wherein she had not failed to recognise the voice ofMartin-Roget or Pierre-Adet, as she now knew him to be. Who the othertwo men were she could easily conjecture. The soft bland voice she hadheard twice during these past few days, which had been so full ofmisery, of terror and of surprise: once she had heard it on board theship which had taken her away from England and once again a few hourssince, inside the narrow room which had been her prison. The third manwho had subsequently arrived on the scene was that coarse and grimycreature who had seemed to be the moving evil spirit of that awful brawlin the tavern.

  What the conversation meant to her she could not fail to guess. PierreAdet had by what he said made the whole of his abominable intrigueagainst her palpably clear. Her father had been right, after all. It wasPierre Adet who through some clever trickery had lured her to this placeof evil. How it was all done she could not guess. The message ... thedevice ... her walk across the street ... the silence ... the mysteriousguide ... which of these had been the trickery?... which had beenconcocted by her enemy?... which devised by her dear milor?

  Enough that the whole thing was a trap, a trap all the more hideous asshe, Yvonne, who would have given her heart's blood for her beloved, wasobviously the bait wherewith these friends meant to capture him and hisnoble chief. They knew evidently of the presence of the gallant ScarletPimpernel and his band of heroes here in Nantes--they seemed to expecttheir appearance at this abominable place to-night. She, Yvonne, was tobe the decoy which was to lure to this hideous lair those noble eagleswho were still out of reach.

  And if that was so--if indeed her beloved and his valiant friends hadfollowed her hither, then some part of the message of hope must havecome from them or from their chief ... and milor and his friend musteven now be somewhere close by, watching their opportunity to come toher rescue ... heedless of the awful danger which lay in wait for them... ignorant mayhap of the abominable trap which had been so cunninglyset for them by these astute and ferocious brutes.

  Yvonne a prisoner in this narrow space, clinging to the bars of what wasperhaps the most cruel prison in which she had yet been confined,bruised her hands and arms against those bars in a wild desire to getout. She longed with all her might to utter one long, loud and piercingcry of warning to her dear milor not to come nigh her now, to fly, torun while there was yet time; and all the while she knew that if she didutter such a cry he would hurry hot-haste to her side. One moment shewould have had him near--another she wished him an hundred miles away.

  IV

  In the tap-room a more ordered medley of sounds had followed on the wildpandemonium of awhile ago. Brief, peremptory words of command, steadytramping of feet, loud harsh questions and subdued answers, occasionallya moan or a few words of protest quickly suppressed, came through thepartition to Yvonne's straining ears.

  "Your name?"

  "Where do you live?"

  "Your occupation?"

  "That's enough. Silence. The next."

  "Your name?"

  "Where do you live?"

  Men, women and even children were being questioned, classified, packedoff, God knew whither. Sometimes a child would cry, a man utter an oath,a woman shriek: then would come harsh orders delivered in a gruff voice,more swearing, the grounding of arms and more often than not a dull,flat sound like a blow struck against human flesh, followed by a volleyof curses, or a cry of pain.

  "Your name?"

  "George Amede Lemoine."

  "Where do you live?"

  "In this house."

  "Your occupation?"

  "I am the proprietor of the tavern, citizen. I am an honest man and apatriot. The Republic...."

  "That's enough."

  "But I protest."

  "Silence. The next."

  All with dreary, ceaseless monotony: and Yvonne like a trapped bird wasbruising her wings against the bars of her cage. Outside the windowChauvelin and Martin-Roget were still speaking in whispers: the fowlerswere still watching for their prey. The third man had apparently goneaway. What went on beyond the range of her prison window--out in thedarkness of the night which Yvonne's aching eyes could not pierce--she,the miserable watcher, the bait set here to catch the noble game, couldnot even conjecture. The window was small and her vision was furtherobstructed by heavy bars. She could see nothing--hear nothing save thosetwo men talking in whispers. Now and again she caught a few words:

  "A little while longer, citizen ... you lose nothing by waiting. YourKernogans are safe enough. Paul Friche has assured you that the landingwhere they are now has no egress save through the tap-room, and to thefloor above. Wait at least until commandant Fleury has got the crowdtogether, after which he will send his Marats to search the house. Itwon't be too late then to lay hands on your aristos, if in themeanwhile...."

  "'Tis futile to wait," here interrupted Martin-Roget roughly, "and youare a fool, citizen, if you think that those Englishmen exist elsewherethan in your imagination."

  "Hark!" broke in the gentle voice abruptly and with forceful command.

  And as Yvonne too in instinctive response to that peremptory call wasfurther straining her every sense in order to listen, there came fromsomewhere, not very far away, right through the stillness of the night,a sound which caused her pulses to still their beating and her throat tochoke with the cry which rose from her breast.

  It was only the sound of a quaint and drawly voice saying loudly and inEnglish:

  "Egad, Tony! ain't you getting demmed sleepy?"

  Just for the space of two or three seconds Yvonne had remained quitestill while this unexpected sound sent its dulcet echo on the wings ofthe north-westerly blast. The next--stumbling in the dark--she had runto the stairs even while she heard Martin-Roget calling loudly andexcitedly to Paul Friche.

  One reverent pause beside her dead father, one mute prayer commendinghis soul to the mercy of his Maker, one agonised entreaty to God toprotect her beloved and his friend, and then she ran swiftly up thewinding steps.

  At the top of the stairs, immediately in front of her, a door--slightlyajar--showed a feeble light through its aperture. Yvonne pushed the doorfurther open and slipped into the room beyond. She did not pause to lookround but went straight to the window and throwing open the rickety sashshe peeped out. For the moment she felt that she would gladly havebartered away twenty years of her life to know exactly whence had comethat quaint and drawling voice. She leaned far out of the window tryingto see. It gave on the side of the Rat Mort over against Louise Adet'shouse--the space below seemed to her to be swarming with men: there werehurried and whispered calls--orders were given to stand at closeattention, whilst Martin-Roget had apparently been questioning PaulFriche, for Yvonne heard the latter declare emphatically:

  "I am certain that it came either from inside the house or from theroof. And with your permission, citizen, I would like to make assurancedoubly sure."

  Then one of the men must suddenly have caught sight of the vaguesilhouette leaning out of the window, for Martin-Roget and Fricheuttered a simultaneous cry, whilst Chauvelin said hurriedly:

  "You are right, citizen, something is going on inside the house."

  "What can we do?" queried Martin-Roget excitedly.

  "Nothing for the moment but wait. The Englishmen are caught sure enoughlike rats in their holes."

  "Wait!" ejaculated Martin-Roget with a savage oath, "wait! always wait!while the quarry slips through one's fingers."

  "It shall not slip through mine," retorted Paul Friche. "I was asteeple-jack by trade in my day: it won't be the first time that I haveclimbed the side of a house by the gutter-pipe. _A moi_ Jean-Pierre," headded, "and may I be drowned in the Loire if between us two we do notlay those cursed English spies low."

  "An hundred francs for each of you," called Chauvelin lustily, "if yousucceed."

  Yvonne did not think to close the window again. Vigorous shouting andlaughter from below testified that that hideous creature Friche and hismate had put their project in immediate execution; she turned and randown
the stairs--feeling now like an animal at bay; by the time that shehad reached the bottom, she heard a prolonged, hoarse cry of triumphfrom below and guessed that Paul Friche and his mate had reached thewindow-sill: the next moment there was a crash overhead of brokenwindow-glass and of furniture kicked from one end of the room to theother, immediately followed by the sound of heavy footsteps runninghelter-skelter down the stairs.

  Yvonne, half-crazed with terror, faint and sick, fell unconscious overthe body of her father.

  V

  Inside the tap-room commandant Fleury was still at work.

  "Your name?"

  "Where do you live?"

  "Your occupation?"

  The low room was filled to suffocation: the walls lined with Marats, thedoors and windows which were wide open were closely guarded, whilst inthe corner of the room, huddled together like bales of rubbish, was thehuman cattle that had been driven together, preparatory to being sentfor a trial to Paris in vindication of Carrier's brutalities against thecity.

  Fleury for form's sake made entries in a notebook--the whole thing was amere farce--these wretched people were not likely to get a fairtrial--what did the whole thing matter? Still! the commandant of theMarats went solemnly through the farce which Carrier had invented with aview to his own justification.

  Lemoine and his wife had protested and been silenced: men had struggledand women had fought--some of them like wild cats--in trying to getaway. Now there were only half a dozen or so more to docket. Fleuryswore, for he was tired and hot.

  "This place is like a pest-house," he said.

  Just then came the sound of that lusty cry of triumph from outside,followed by all the clatter and the breaking of window glass.

  "What's that?" queried Fleury.

  The heavy footsteps running down the stairs caused him to look up fromhis work and to call briefly to a sergeant of the Marats who stoodbeside his chair:

  "Go and see what that _sacre_ row is about," he commanded. "In there,"he added as he indicated the door of the landing with a jerk of thehead.

  But before the man could reach the door, it was thrown open from withinwith a vigorous kick from the point of a sabot, and Paul Friche appearedunder the lintel with the aristo wench thrown over his shoulder like asack of potatoes, his thick, muscular arms encircling her knees. Hisscarlet bonnet was cocked over one eye, his face was smeared with dirt,his breeches were torn at the knees, his shirt hung in strips from hispowerful shoulders. Behind him his mate--who had climbed up thegutter-pipe into the house in his wake--was tottering under the load ofthe ci-devant duc de Kernogan's body which he had slung across his backand was holding on to by the wrists.

  Fleury jumped to his feet--the appearance of these two men, each withhis burden, caused him to frown with anger and to demand peremptorily:"What is the meaning of this?"

  "The aristos," said Paul Friche curtly; "they were trying to escape."

  He strode into the room, carrying the unconscious form of the girl as ifit were a load of feathers. He was a huge, massive-looking giant: thegirl's shoulders nearly touched the low ceiling as he swung forwardfacing the angry commandant.

  "How did you get into the house? and by whose orders?" demanded Fleuryroughly.

  "Climbed in by the window, _pardi_," retorted the man, "and by theorders of citizen Martin-Roget."

  "A corporal of the Company Marat takes orders only from me; you shouldknow that, citizen Friche."

  "Nay!" interposed the sergeant quickly, "this man is not a corporal ofthe Company Marat, citizen commandant. As for Corporal Friche, why! hewas taken to the infirmary some hours ago with a cracked skull, he...."

  "Not Corporal Friche," exclaimed Fleury with an oath, "then who in thedevil's name is this man?"

  "The Scarlet Pimpernel, at your service, citizen commandant," cameloudly and with a merry laugh from the pseudo Friche.

  And before either Fleury or the sergeant or any of the Marats could evenbegin to realise what was happening, he had literally bounded across theroom, and as he did so he knocked against the hanging lamp which fellwith a crash to the floor, scattering oil and broken glass in everydirection and by its fall plunging the place into total darkness. Atonce there arose a confusion and medley of terrified screams, ofpiercing shrieks from the women and the children, and of loudimprecations from the men. These mingled with the hasty words ofcommand, with quick orders from Fleury and the sergeant, with thegrounding of arms and the tramping of many feet, and with the fall ofhuman bodies that happened to be in the way of the reckless adventurerand his flight.

  "He is through the door," cried the men who had been there on guard.

  "After him then!" shouted Fleury. "Curse you all for cowards and forfools."

  The order had no need to be repeated. The confusion, though great, hadonly been momentary. Within a second or less, Fleury and his sergeanthad fought their way through to the door, urging the men to follow.

  "After him ... quick!... he is heavily loaded ... he cannot have got far..." commanded Fleury as soon as he had crossed the threshold."Sergeant, keep order within, and on your life see that no one elseescapes."