Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall Part 39

I did not attempt to thwart his purpose by word or gesture, knowing it would be useless, but hoped that John would be out of his reach long ere the c.o.c.k would crow his first greeting to the morrow's sun.

After Sir George had drunk far into the night the servants helped him to bed, and he carried with him the key to the dungeon together with the keys to all the outer doors and gates of Haddon Hall, as was his custom. The keys were in a bunch, held together by an iron ring, and Sir George always kept them under his pillow at night.

I sought my bed in Eagle Tower and lay down in my clothes to rest and wait. The window of my room was open.

Within an hour after midnight I heard the hooting of an owl. The doleful sound came up to me from the direction of the stone footbridge at the southwest corner of the Hall below the chapel. I went to my window and looked out over the courts and terrace. Haddon Hall and all things in and about it were wrapped in slumbrous silence. I waited, and again I heard the hooting of the owl. Noiselessly leaving my room I descended the stone steps to an unused apartment in the tower from which a window opened upon the roof of the north wing of the Hall. Along that roof I crept with bared feet, till I reached another roof, the battlements of which at the lowest point were not more than twenty feet from the ground. Thence I clambered down to a window cornice five or six feet lower, and jumped, at the risk of my limbs, the remaining distance of fifteen or sixteen feet to the soft sod beneath. I ran with all haste, took my stand under Aunt Dorothy's window, and whistled softly. The window casing opened and I heard the great bunch of keys jingling and clinking against the stone wall as Aunt Dorothy paid them out to me by means of a cord. After I had secured the keys I called in a whisper to Lady Crawford and directed her to leave the cord hanging from the window. I also told her to remain in readiness to draw up the keys when they should have served their purpose. Then I took them and ran to the stone footbridge where I found four Rutland men who had come in response to the message Dawson had sent by Jennie Faxton. Two of the men went with me, and we entered the lower garden by the southwest postern. Thence we crept noiselessly to the terrace and made our entrance into the Hall by "Dorothy's Postern." I had in my life engaged in many questionable and dangerous enterprises, but this was my first attempt at house-breaking. To say that I was nervous would but poorly define the state of my feelings. Since that day I have respected the high calling of burglary and regard with favor the daring knights of the skeleton key. I was frightened. I, who would feel no fear had I to fight a dozen men, trembled with fright during this adventure. The deathlike silence and the darkness in familiar places seemed uncanny to me. The very chairs and tables appeared to be sleeping, and I was fearful lest they should awaken.

I cannot describe to you how I was affected. Whether it was fear or awe or a smiting conscience I cannot say, but my teeth chattered as if they were in the mouth of a fool, and my knees quaked as if they supported a coward.

Still I knew I was doing my duty, though one's conscience sometimes smites him when his reason tells him he is acting righteously. It is more dangerous to possess a sensitive conscience which cannot be made to hear reason than to have none at all. But I will make short my account of that night's doings. The two Rutland men and I groped our way to the dungeon and carried forth John, who was weak from loss of blood. I told them to lock the door of the Hall as they pa.s.sed out and to attach the keys to the cord hanging from Lady Crawford's window. Then I climbed to my room again, feeling in conscience like a criminal because I had done the best act of my life.

Early next morning I was awakened by a great noise in the upper court.

When I looked out at my window I beheld Sir George. He was half dressed and was angrily questioning the servants and retainers. I knew that he had discovered John's escape, but I did not know all, nor did I know the worst. I dressed and went to the kitchen, where I bathed my hands and face. There I learned that the keys to the hall had been stolen from under Sir George's pillow, and that the prisoner had escaped from the dungeon.

Old Bess, the cook, nodded her head wisely and whispered to me the words, "Good for Mistress Doll."

Bess's unsought confidence alarmed me. I did not relish the thought that Bess nor any one else should believe me to be in sympathy with Dorothy, and I said:--

"If Mistress Vernon had aught to do with last night's affairs, she should be full of shame. I will not believe that she knew of it at all. My opinion is that one of the servants was bribed by some person interested in Tom-Tom's escape."

"Believe nothing of the sort," retorted Bess. "It is the mistress and not the servant who stole the keys and liberated Tom-Tom. But the question is, who may Tom-Tom be? and the servants' hall is full of it. We are not uncertain as to the manner of his escape. Some of the servants do say that the Earl of Leicester be now visiting the Duke of Devonshire; and some also do say that his Lordship be fond of disguises in his gallantry. They do also say that the queen is in love with him, and that he must disguise himself when he woos elsewhere, or she be's famously jealous. It would be a pretty mess the master has brought us all into should Tom-Tom prove to be my lord Earl of Leicester. We'd all hang and to h.e.l.l."

"Bess, that tongue of yours will cost you your head one of these good times," I remarked, while I rubbed my face with the towel.

"I would sooner lose my head," retorted Bess, "than have my mouth shut by fear. I know, Sir Malcolm, that I'll not die till my time comes; but please the good G.o.d when my time does come I will try to die talking."

"That you will," said I.

"True word, Sir Malcolm," she answered, and I left her in possession of the field.

I went into the courtyard, and when Sir George saw me he said, "Malcolm, come with me to my room; I want a word with you."

We went to his room.

"I suppose you know of the fellow's escape last night?" he said.

"Yes," I replied, "Bess told me about it in the kitchen."

It seemed to me that my words said, "I did it."

"Not only was the fellow liberated," said my cousin, "but the keys to all the outer gates and doors of the Hall have been stolen and carried away.

Can you help me unravel this affair?"

"Do you suspect any one of having stolen the keys?" I asked.

"I know, of course, that Dorothy did it. Who her accomplices were, if any she had, I do not know. I have catechized the servants, but the question is bottomless to me."

"Have you spoken to Dorothy on the subject?" I asked.

"No," he replied, "but I have sent word to her by the Faxton girl that I am going to see her at once. Come with me."

We went into Lady Crawford's room. She was ill and in bed. I did not wonder that she was ill after the experiences of the previous night. Sir George asked her if she had heard or seen Dorothy pa.s.s through her room during the night. She said:--

"Dorothy did not pa.s.s through this room last night. I did not once close my eyes in sleep, and I should have seen her had she been here at all."

Sir George entered Dorothy's bedroom, and Lady Crawford beckoned me to go to her side.

"I waited till sunrise," she said, "that I might draw up the keys."

"Hush!" said I, "the cord?"

"I burned it," she replied.

Then I followed Sir George into Dorothy's room. Madge was dressed for the day, and Dorothy, who had been helping her, was making her own toilet. Her hair hung loose and fell like a cataract of sunshine over her bare shoulders. But no words that I can write would give you a conception of her wondrous beauty, and I shall not waste them in the attempt. When we entered the room she was standing at the mirror. She turned, comb in hand, toward Sir George and said:--

"I suppose, father, you will accuse me of liberating Thomas."

"You must know that I will accuse you," replied Sir George.

"Then, father, for once you will accuse me falsely. I am overjoyed that he has escaped, and I certainly should have tried to liberate him had I thought it possible to do so. But I did not do it, though to tell you the truth I am sorry I did not."

"I do not believe you," her father replied.

"I knew you would not believe me," answered Dorothy. "Had I liberated him I should probably have lied to you about it; therefore, I wonder not that you should disbelieve me. But I tell you again upon my salvation that I know nothing of the stealing of the keys nor of Tom-Tom's escape. Believe me or not, I shall deny it no more."

Madge gropingly went to Sir George's side, and he tenderly put his arms about her, saying:--

"I would that you were my daughter." Madge took his hand caressingly.

"Uncle, I want to tell you that Dorothy speaks the truth," she said. "I have been with her every moment since the terrible scene of yesterday evening. Neither Dorothy nor I closed our eyes in sleep all night long.

She lay through the dark hours moaning, and I tried to comfort her. Our door was locked, and it was opened only by your messenger who brought the good news of Tom-Tom's escape. I say good news, uncle, because his escape has saved you from the stain of murder. You are too brave a man to do murder, uncle."

"How dare you," said Sir George, taking his arm from Madge's waist, "how dare you defend--"

"Now, uncle, I beg you pause and take a moment's thought," said Madge, interrupting him. "You have never spoken unkindly to me."

"Nor will I, Madge, so long as I live. I know there is not a lie in you, and I am sure you believe to be true all you tell me, but Dorothy has deceived you by some adroit trick."

"If she deceived me, she is a witch," retorted Madge, laughing softly.

"That I am almost ready to believe is the case," said Sir George.

Dorothy, who was combing her hair at the mirror, laughed softly and said:--

"My broomstick is under the bed, father."

Sir George went into Lady Crawford's room and shut the door, leaving me with the girls.

When her father had left, Dorothy turned upon me with fire in her eyes:--

"Malcolm Vernon, if you ever lay hands upon me again as you did last night, I will--I will scratch you. You pretended to be his friend and mine, but for a cowardly fear of my father you came between us and you carried me to this room by force. Then you locked the door and--and"--