CHAPTER XXVI. THE SPY FLIES.
Meanwhile at Laughton there was confusion and alarm. Helen had foundherself more than usually unwell in the morning; towards noon, the maidwho attended her informed Madame Dalibard that she was afraid the pooryoung lady had much fever, and inquired if the doctor should be sentfor. Madame Dalibard seemed surprised at the intelligence, and directedher chair to be wheeled into her niece's room, in order herself to judgeof Helen's state. The maid, sure that the doctor would be summoned,hastened to the stables, and seeing Beck, instructed him to saddle oneof the horses and to await further orders. Beck kept her a few momentstalking while he saddled his horse, and then followed her into thehouse, observing that it would save time if he were close at hand.
"That is quite true," said the maid, "and you may as well wait in thecorridor. Madame may wish to speak to you herself, and give you her ownmessage or note to the doctor."
Beck, full of gloomy suspicions, gladly obeyed, and while the maidentered the sick-chamber, stood anxiously without. Presently Varneypassed him, and knocked at Helen's door; the maid half-opened it.
"How is Miss Mainwaring?" said he, eagerly.
"I fear she is worse, sir; but Madame Dalibard does not think there isany danger."
"No danger! I am glad; but pray ask Madame Dalibard to let me see herfor a few moments in her own room. If she come out, I will wheel herchair to it. Whether there is danger or not, we had better send forother advice than this country doctor, who has perhaps mistaken thecase; tell her I am very uneasy, and beg her to join me immediately."
"I think you are quite right, sir," said the maid, closing the door.
Varney then, turning round for the first time, noticed Beck, and saidroughly,--
"What do you do here? Wait below till you are sent for."
Beck pulled his forelock, and retreated back, not in the direction ofthe principal staircase, but towards that used by the servants, andwhich his researches into the topography of the mansion had now madeknown to him. To gain these back stairs he had to pass Lucretia's room;the door stood ajar; Varney's face was turned from him. Beck breathedhard, looked round, then crept within, and in a moment was behind thefolds of the tapestry.
Soon the chair in which sat Madame Dalibard was drawn by Varney himselfinto the room.
Shutting the door with care, and turning the key, Gabriel said, withlow, suppressed passion,--
"Well; your mind seems wandering,--speak!"
"It is strange," said Lucretia, in hollow tones, "can Nature turnaccomplice, and befriend us here?"
"Nature! did you not last night administer the--"
"No," interrupted Lucretia. "No; she came into the room, she kissedme here,--on the brow that even then was meditating murder. The kissburned; it burns still,--it eats into the brain like remorse. But I didnot yield; I read again her false father's protestation of love; I readagain the letter announcing the discovery of my son, and remorse laystill. I went forth as before, I stole into her chamber, I had the fatalcrystal in my hand--"
"Well, well!"
"And suddenly there came the fearful howl of a dog, and the dog's fierceeyes glared on me. I paused, I trembled; Helen started, woke, calledaloud. I turned and fled. The poison was not given."
Varney ground his teeth. "But this illness! Ha! the effect, perhaps, ofthe drops administered two nights ago."
"No; this illness has no symptoms like those the poison shouldbequeath,--it is but natural fever, a shock on the nerves; she told meshe had been wakened by the dog's howl, and seen a dark form, like athing from the grave, creeping along the floor. But she is really ill;send for the physician; there is nothing in her illness to betray thehand of man. Be it as it may,--that kiss still burns; I will stir inthis no more. Do what you will yourself!"
"Fool, fool!" exclaimed Varney, almost rudely grasping her arm."Remember how much we have yet to prepare for, how much to do,--and thetime so short! Percival's return,--perhaps this Greville's arrival. Giveme the drugs; I will mix them for her in the potion the physician sends.And when Percival returns,--his Helen dead or dying,--I will attend onhim! Silent still? Recall your son! Soon you will clasp him in your armsas a beggar, or as the lord of Laughton!"
Lucretia shuddered, but did not rise; she drew forth a ring of keys fromher bosom, and pointed towards a secretary. Varney snatched the keys,unlocked the secretary, seized the fatal casket, and sat down quietlybefore it.
When the dire selections were made, and secreted about his person,Varney rose, approached the fire, and blew the wood embers to a blaze.
"And now," he said, with his icy irony of smile, "we may dismissthese useful instruments,--perhaps forever. Though Walter Ardworth, inrestoring your son, leaves us dependent on that son's filial affection,and I may have, therefore, little to hope for from the succession, tosecure which I have risked and am again to risk my life, I yet trust tothat influence which you never fail to obtain over others. I take it forgranted that when these halls are Vincent Braddell's, we shall haveno need of gold, nor of these pale alchemies. Perish, then, the mutewitnesses of our acts, the elements we have bowed to our will! No poisonshall be found in our hoards! Fire, consume your consuming children!"
As he spoke, he threw upon the hearth the contents of the casket,and set his heel upon the logs. A bluish flame shot up, breaking intocountless sparks, and then died.
Lucretia watched him without speaking.
In coming back towards the table, Varney felt something hard beneathhis tread; he stooped, and picked up the ring which has before beendescribed as amongst the ghastly treasures of the casket, and which hadrolled on the floor almost to Lucretia's feet, as he had emptied thecontents on the hearth.
"This, at least, need tell no tales," said he; "a pity to destroy sorare a piece of workmanship,--one, too, which we never can replace!"
"Ay," said Lucretia, abstractedly; "and if detection comes, it maysecure a refuge from the gibbet. Give me the ring."
"A refuge more terrible than the detection," said Varney,--"beware ofsuch a thought," as Lucretia, taking it from his hand, placed the ringon her finger.
"And now I leave you for a while to recollect yourself,--to compose yourcountenance and your thoughts. I will send for the physician."
Lucretia, with her eyes fixed on the floor, did not heed him, and hewithdrew.
So motionless was her attitude, so still her very breathing, that theunseen witness behind the tapestry, who, while struck with horror atwhat he had overheard (the general purport of which it was impossiblethat he could misunderstand), was parched with impatience to escape torescue his beloved master from his impending fate, and warn him of thefate hovering nearer still over Helen, ventured to creep along the wallto the threshold, to peer forth from the arras, and seeing her eyesstill downcast, to emerge, and place his hand on the door. At that verymoment Lucretia looked up, and saw him gliding from the tapestry; theireyes met: his were fascinated as the bird's by the snake's. At thesight, all her craft, her intellect, returned. With a glance, shecomprehended the terrible danger that awaited her. Before he was awareof her movement, she was at his side; her hand on his own, her voice inhis ear.
"Stir not a step, utter not a sound, or you are--"
Beck did not suffer her to proceed. With the violence rather of fearthan of courage, he struck her to the ground; but she clung to himstill, and though rendered for the moment speechless by the suddennessof the blow, her eyes took an expression of unspeakable cruelty andfierceness. He struggled with all his might to shake her off; as he didso, she placed feebly her other hand upon the wrist of the lifted armthat had smitten her, and he felt a sharp pain, as if the nails hadfastened into the flesh. This but exasperated him to new efforts. Heextricated himself from her grasp, which relaxed as her lips writhedinto a smile of scorn and triumph, and, spurning her while she laybefore the threshold, he opened the door, sprang forward, and escaped.No thought had he of tarrying in that House of Pelops, those humanshambles, of denouncing Murder in its lair; to fly
to reach his master,warn, and shield him,--that was the sole thought which crossed hisconfused, bewildered brain.
It might be from four to five minutes that Lucretia, half-stunned,half-senseless, lay upon those floors,--for besides the violence of herfall, the shock of the struggle upon nerves weakened by the agonyof apprehension, occasioned by the imminent and unforeseen chance ofdetection, paralyzed her wondrous vigour of mind and frame,--when Varneyentered.
"They tell me she sleeps," he said, in hoarse, muttered accents, beforehe saw the prostrate form at his very feet. But Varney's step, Varney'svoice, had awakened Lucretia's reason to consciousness and the senseof peril. Rising, though with effort, she related hurriedly what hadpassed.
"Fly, fly!" she gasped, as she concluded. "Fly, to detain, to secrete,this man somewhere for the next few hours. Silence him but till then;I have done the rest!" and her finger pointed to the fatal ring. Varneywaited for no further words; he hurried out, and made at once to thestables: his shrewdness conjectured that Beck would carry his taleelsewhere. The groom was already gone (his fellows said) without a word,but towards the lodge that led to the Southampton road. Varney orderedthe swiftest horse the stables held to be saddled, and said, as hesprang on his back,--
"I, too, must go towards Southampton. The poor young lady! I mustprepare your master,--he is on his road back to us;" and the last wordwas scarce out of his lips as the sparks flew from the flints under thehorse's hoofs, and he spurred from the yard.
As he rode at full speed through the park, the villain's mind sped morerapidly than the animal he bestrode,--sped from fear to hope, hopeto assurance. Grant that the spy lived to tell his tale,--incoherent,improbable as the tale would be,--who would believe it? How easy tomeet tale by tale! The man must own that he was secreted behind thetapestry,--wherefore but to rob? Detected by Madame Dalibard, he hadcoined this wretched fable. And the spy, too, could not live through theday; he bore Death with him as he rode, he fed its force by his speed,and the effects of the venom itself would be those of frenzy. Tush! histale, at best, would seem but the ravings of delirium. Still, it waswell to track him where he went,--delay him, if possible; and Varney'sspurs plunged deep and deeper into the bleeding flanks: on desperatelyscoured the horse. He passed the lodge; he was on the road; a chaise andpair dashed by him; he heard not a voice exclaim "Varney!" he saw notthe wondering face of John Ardworth; bending over the tossing mane, hewas deaf, he was blind, to all without and around. A milestone glidesby, another, and a third. Ha! his eyes can see now. The object of hischase is before him,--he views distinctly, on the brow of yon hill, thehorse and the rider, spurring fast, like himself. They descend thehill, horse and horseman, and are snatched from his sight. Up the steepstrains the pursuer. He is at the summit. He sees the fugitive beforehim, almost within hearing. Beck has slackened his steed; he seemsswaying to and fro in the saddle. Ho, ho! the barbed ring begins to workin his veins. Varney looks round,--not another soul is in sight; a deepwood skirts the road. Place and time seem to favour; Beck has reined inhis horse,--he bends low over the saddle, as if about to fall. Varneyutters a half-suppressed cry of triumph, shakes his reins, and spurson, when suddenly--by the curve of the road, hid before--another chaisecomes in sight, close where Beck had wearily halted.
The chaise stops; Varney pulls in, and draws aside to the hedgerow. Someone within the vehicle is speaking to the fugitive! May it not beSt. John himself? To his rage and his terror, he sees Beck painfullydismount from his horse, sees him totter to the door of the chaise, seesa servant leap from the box and help him up the step, sees him enter. Itmust be Percival on his return,--Percival, to whom he tells that storyof horror! Varney's brute-like courage forsook him; his heart wasappalled. In one of those panics so common with that boldness whichis but animal, his sole thought became that of escape. He turned hishorse's head to the fence, forced his way desperately through thebarrier, made into the wood, and sat there, cowering and listening, tillin another minute he heard the wheels rattle on, and the horses gallophard down the hill towards the park.
The autumn wind swept through the trees, it shook the branches of thelofty ash that overhung the Accursed One. What observer of Nature knowsnot that peculiar sound which the ash gives forth in the blast? Notthe solemn groan of the oak, not the hollow murmur of the beech, buta shrill wail, a shriek as of a human voice in sharp anguish. Varneyshuddered, as if he had heard the death-cry of his intended victim.Through briers and thickets, torn by the thorns, bruised by the boughs,he plunged deeper and deeper into the wood, gained at length the mainpath cut through it, found himself in a lane, and rode on, carelesswhither, till he had reached a small town, about ten miles fromLaughton, where he resolved to wait till his nerves had recovered theirtone, and he could more calmly calculate the chances of safety.