XXI. THE HOME OF THE BRIGANDS
It was past midnight, after a wild ride through the storm, when anold gentleman and his wife, with their sick daughter, boarded a fasteastbound train at Namur. Had the officers of the law known of theabduction at that hour it would have been an easy matter to discoverthat the loose-flowing gown which enveloped the almost unconscious,partially veiled daughter, hid a garment of silk so fine that thewhole world had read columns concerning its beauty. The gray beardof the rather distinguished old man could have been removed: at asingle grasp, while the wife, also veiled, wore the clothing of aman underneath the skirts. The father and mother were all attentionto their unfortunate child, who looked into their faces with wide,hopeless eyes and uttered no word of complaint, no sound of pain.
At a small station some miles from the border line of the grandduchy of Luxemburg, the party left the coach and were met by acarriage in which they whirled away in the darkness that comes justbefore dawn. The horses flew swiftly toward the line that separatesBelgium from the grand duchy, and the sun was barely above the bankof trees on the highlands in the east when the carriage of theimpetuous travelers drew up in front of a picturesque roadside innjust across the boundary. The sweat-flecked horses were quicklystabled and the occupants of the vehicle were comfortably and safelyquartered in a darkened room overlooking the highway.
So ill was the daughter, explained the father, that she was not tobe disturbed on any account or pretext. Fatigued by the long ridefrom their home in the north, she was unable to continue the journeyto Luxemburg until she had had a day of rest. At the big city shewas to be placed in the care of the most noted of surgeons. Full ofcompassion, the keeper of the inn and his good wife did all in theirpower to carry out the wishes of the distressed father, particularlyas he was free with his purse. It did not strike them as peculiarthat the coachman remained at the stable closely, and that early inthe day his horses were attached to the mud-covered carriage, as ifready for a start on the notice of a moment. The good man and hiswife and the few peasants who were told of the suffering guest, inorder that they might talk in lowered voices and refrain fromdisturbing noises, did not know that the "mother" of the girl satbehind the curtains of an upstairs window watching the road in bothdirections, a revolver on the sill.
The fact that the strange party decided to depart for Luxemburg justbefore nightfall did not create surprise in their simple breasts,for had not the anxious father said they would start as soon as hisdaughter felt equal to the journey? So eager were they to deliverher over to the great doctor who alone could save her life. With acrack of the whip and a gruff shout of farewell to the gapingstableboy who had been his companion for a day, the driver of theearly morning coach whirled into the road and off toward the city ofprecipices. No one about the inn knew who the brief sojourners were,nor did they know whence they came. The stableboy noted the letter Sblazoned on the blinds of the horses' bridles, but there were noletters on the carriage. There had been, but there was evidence thatthey had been unskillfully removed.
Late in the night the coachman pulled rein and a man on horsebackrode up, opened the door and softly inquired after the welfare ofthe occupants. With a command to follow, he rode away through anarrow, uncertain wagon path. When the way became rough anddangerous, he dismounted and climbed to the boot of the cab, thecoachman going to the empty saddle. Half an hour later the newcoachman stopped the puffing horses in front of a great, blackshadow from which, here and there, lights beamed cheerfully. Fromthe back of the vehicle the two men unstrapped the heavy steamertrunk which had come all the way from Brussels with the party, andthen the doors of the big shadow opened and closed behind DorothyGarrison and her captors. So skillfully and so audaciously were theplans of the abductors carried out that when Miss Garrison entered aroom set apart for her in the great house, after passing throughlong, grotesque and ill-lighted corridors, she found an open trunkfull of garments she had expected to wear on her wedding journey!
A trim and pretty English maid entered the room the instant it wasvacated by the gray-bearded man and the tall person who had posed ashis wife. While Dorothy sat like a statue, gazing upon her, theyoung woman lighted other candles in the apartment and then came tothe side of the mute, wretched newcomer.
"Will you let me prepare you for bed, miss? It is very late, and youmust be tired. Would you like anything to eat before retiring?" sheasked, as quietly as if she had been in her service forever.
"In heaven's name, where am I? Tell me what does it all mean? Whatare they going to do with me?" cried Dorothy, hoarsely, clutchingthe girl's hand.
"You could not be in safer hands, Miss Garrison," said the maid,kindly. "I am here to do all that is your pleasure."
"All? Then I implore you to aid me in getting from--" began Dorothy,excitedly, coming to her unsteady feet.
"I am loyal to others as well as to you," interposed the maid,firmly. "To-morrow you will find that--but, there, I must say nomore. Your bedchamber is off here, Miss. You will let me prepare youfor the sleep you need so much? No harm can come to you here."
Dorothy suddenly felt her courage returning; her brain began to busyitself with hopes, prospects, plans. After all they could not, wouldnot kill her; she was too valuable to them. There was the chance ofescape and new strength in the belief that she could in some wayoutwit them; there was a vast difference between the woman whosuffered herself to be put to bed by the deft, kindly maid, and theone who dragged herself hopelessly into the room such a short timebefore. With the growth of hope and determination there came thecourage to inspect her surroundings.
The rooms were charming. There was a generous, kindly warmth aboutthem that suggested luxury, refinement and the hand of a connoiseur.The rugs were of rare quality, the furnishings elegant, theappointments modern and complete. She could not suppress a longbreath of surprise and relief: it was no easy matter to convinceherself that she was not in some fastidious English home. Despitethe fearful journey, ending in the perilous ascent over rocks andgullies, she felt herself glowing with the belief that she was stillin Brussels, or, at the worst, in Liege. Her amazement on findingher own trunk and the garments she had left in her chamber the nightbefore was so great that her troubled, bewildered mind raced back tothe days when she marvelled over Aladdin's wonderful lamp and thegenii. How could they have secured her dresses? But how couldanything be impossible to these masters in crime? Once when her eyesfell upon the dark windows a wistful, eager expression came intothem. The maid observed the look, and smiled.
"It is fully fifty feet to the ground," she said, simply. MissGarrison sighed and then smiled resignedly.
Worn out in body and mind, she sank into sleep even while themighty, daring resolve to rush over and throw herself from thewindow was framing itself in her brain. The resolve was madesuddenly, considered briefly and would have been acted onprecipitously had not the drowsy, lazy influence of slumber bade herto wait a minute, then another minute, another and another, andthen--to forget.
Sunlight streamed into the room when she opened her eyes, and for afew minutes she was in a state of uncanny perplexity. Where was she?In whose bed--then she remembered. With the swiftness of a cat sheleft the bed and flew to the window to look out upon--space atfirst, then the trees and rocks below. The ground seemed a milebelow the spot on which she stood. Gasping with dread she shrankback and covered her eyes with her tense fingers.
"Are you ready for me, Miss?" asked a soft voice from somewhere, andDorothy whirled to face the maid. Her throat choked, her eyes filledwith tears of the reawakening, her heart throbbed so faintly thather hand went forth to find support. The little maid put her strong,gentle arm about the trembling girl and drew her again to the bed"They are expecting you down to breakfast, but I was instructed notto hurry you, Miss."
"To breakfast?" gasped Dorothy, staring at the girl as if her eyeswould pop out. "Wha--what! The impudence!"
"But you must eat, you know."
"With--with these despicable wretches?
Never! I will starve first!Go away from me! I do not need you. I want to be alone, absolutelyalone. Do you hear?" She violently shoved the girl away from her,but the friendly smile did not leave the latter's face.
"When you need me, Miss, I am in the next room," she said, calmly,and was gone. Anger, pure and simple, brought sobs from the veryheart of the girl who lay face downward on the crumpled bed.
A new impulse inspired her to call sharply to the maid, and a momentlater she was hastily, nervously, defiantly preparing herself toface the enemy and--breakfast. Tingling with some trepidation andsome impatience, she led the maid through a strenuous half-hour.What with questions, commands, implorings, reprimands, complaintsand fault findings, the poor girl had a sad time of it. When at lastMiss Garrison stood ready to descend upon the foe she was thepicture of defiance. With a steady stride she followed the maid tothe door. Just as it was opened a strong, rollicking baritone voicecame ringing through the halls attuned in song:
"In the days of old when knights were bold, And barons held theirsway," etc.
Dorothy stopped stockstill in the doorway, completely overwhelmed.She turned helplessly to the maid, tried to gasp the question thatfilled her mind, and then leaned weakly against the wall. Thesinger's voice grew suddenly fainter with the slam of a door, andwhile its music could still be heard distinctly, she knew that he ofthe merry tones had left the lower hallway. Feebly she began towonder what manner of men these thieves could be, these miscreantswho lived in a castle, who had lady's maids about them, who sang incheery tones and who knew neither fear nor caution.
"One of the new guests who came last night," explained the maid,unconcernedly.
"One who came--who came with me? O, how can such a wretch sing sogayly? Have they been drinking all night?" cried Dorothy, shrinkingback into the room.
"Lor', no, Miss, there can't be any such goings on as that here. Ithink they are waiting for you in the breakfast room," said thegirl, starting down the broad steps.
"I'd sooner die than venture among those ruffians!"
"But the ladies are expecting you."
"Ladies! Here?" gasped Dorothy.
"Yes, Miss; why not?"
Dorothy's head whirled again. In a dazed sort of way she glanceddown at her morning gown, her mind slowly going back to theglittering costume she had worn the night before. Was it all adream? Scarcely knowing what she did, she followed the girl down thesteps, utterly without purpose, drawn as by some strange subtleforce to the terminal point in the mystery.
Through the dimly-lighted hall she passed with heart throbbingwildly, expecting she knew not what. Her emotions as she approachedthe door she could have never told, so tumultuously were theysurging one upon the other. The maid grasped the huge knob and swungwide the door, from whose threshold she was to look upon a picturethat would linger in her mind to the end of time.
A great sunlit room; a long table and high-backed Flemish chairs; abewildering group of men and women; a chorus of friendly voices; andthen familiar faces began to stand out plainly before her eyes.
Lady Saxondale was advancing toward the door with outstretched handsand smiling face. Over her shoulder the dumbfounded girl saw LadyJane Oldham, Saxondale, happy faced Dickey Savage and--PhilipQuentin!