Lord Tony's Wife Part 14

"Yes! yes! But you have seen my lady since?"

"Not clapped eyes on 'er, zir, since she went to the ball come Monday evenin'. An' a picture she looked in 'er white gown...."

"And ... did His Grace leave no message ... for ... for anyone?... no letter?"

"Ah, yes, now you come to mention it, zir. Mr. Frederick 'e give me a letter yesterday. ''Is Grace,' sez 'e, 'left this yere letter on 'is desk. I just found it,' sez 'e. 'If my lord Anthony Dew'urst calls,' sez 'e, 'give it to 'im.' I've got the letter zomewhere, zir. What may your name be?"

"I am Lord Anthony Dewhurst," replied the young man mechanically.

"Your pardon, my lord, I'll go fetch th' letter."

VII

Lord Tony never moved while the woman shuffled across the pa.s.sage and down the back stairs. He was like a man who has received a knock-out blow and has not yet had time to recover his scattered senses. At first when the woman spoke, his mind had jumped to fears of some awful accident ... runaway horses ... a broken barouche ... or a sudden aggravation of the duc's ill-health. But soon he was forced to reject what now would have seemed a consoling thought: had there been an accident, he would have heard--a rumour would have reached him--Yvonne would have sent a courier. He did not know yet what to think, his mind was like a slate over which a clumsy hand had pa.s.sed a wet sponge--impressions, recollections, above all a hideous, nameless fear, were all blurred and confused within his brain.

The woman came back carrying a letter which was crumpled and greasy from a prolonged sojourn in the pocket of her ap.r.o.n. Lord Tony took the letter and broke its heavy seal. The woman watched him, curiously, pityingly now, for he was good to look on, and she scented the significance of the tragedy which she had been the means of revealing to him. But he had become quite unconscious of her presence, of everything in fact save those few sentences, written in French, in a cramped hand, and which seemed to dance a wild saraband before his eyes:

"MILOR,--

"You tried to steal my daughter from me, but I have taken her from you now. By the time this reaches you we shall be on the high seas on our way to Holland, thence to Coblentz, where Mademoiselle de Kernogan will in accordance with my wishes be united in lawful marriage to M. Martin-Roget whom I have chosen to be her husband.

She is not and never was your wife. As far as one may look into the future, I can a.s.sure you that you will never in life see her again."

And to this monstrous doc.u.ment of appalling callousness and cold-blooded cruelty there was appended the signature of Andre Dieudonne Duc de Kernogan.

But unlike the writer thereof Lord Anthony Dewhurst neither stormed nor raged: he did not even tear the execrable letter into an hundred fragments. His firm hand closed over it with one convulsive clutch, and that was all. Then he slipped the crumpled paper into his pocket. Quite deliberately he took out some money and gave a piece of silver to the woman.

"I thank you very much," he said somewhat haltingly. "I quite understand everything now."

The woman curtseyed and thanked him; tears were in her eyes, for it seemed to her that never had she seen such grief depicted upon any human face. She preceded him to the hall door and held it open for him, while he pa.s.sed out. After the brief gleam of sunshine it had started to rain again, but he didn't seem to care. The woman suggested fetching a hackney coach, but he refused quite politely, quite gently: he even lifted his hat as he went out. Obviously he did not know what he was doing. Then he went out into the rain and strode slowly across the Place.

CHAPTER VI

THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL

I

Instinct kept him away from the more frequented streets--and instinct after awhile drew him in the direction of his friend's house at the comer of The Circus. Sir Percy Blakeney had not gone out fortunately: the lacquey who opened the door to my lord Tony stared astonished and almost paralysed for the moment at the extraordinary appearance of his lordship. Rain dropped down from the brim of his hat on to his shoulders: his boots were muddy to the knees, his clothes wringing wet.

His eyes were wild and hazy and there was a curious tremor round his mouth.

The lacquey declared with a knowing wink afterwards that his lordship must 'ave been drinkin'!

But at the moment his sense of duty urged him to show my lord--who was his master's friend--into the library, whatever condition he was in. He took his dripping coat and hat from him and marshalled him across the large, square hall.

Sir Percy Blakeney was sitting at his desk, writing, when Lord Tony was shown in. He looked up and at once rose and went to his friend.

"Sit down, Tony," he said quietly, "while I get you some brandy."

He forced the young man down gently into a chair in front of the fire and threw another log into the blaze. Then from a cupboard he fetched a flask of brandy and a gla.s.s, poured some out and held it to Tony's lips.

The latter drank--unresisting--like a child. Then as some warmth penetrated into his bones, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. Blakeney waited quietly, sitting down opposite to him, until his friend should be able to speak.

"And after all that you told me on Monday night!" were the first words which came from Tony's quivering lips, "and the letter you sent me over on Tuesday! Oh! I was prepared to mistrust Martin-Roget. Why! I never allowed her out of my sight!... But her father!... How could I guess?"

"Can you tell me exactly what happened?"

Lord Tony drew himself up, and staring vacantly into the fire told his friend the events of the past four days. On Wednesday the courier with M. de Kernogan's letter, breathing kindness and forgiveness. On Thursday his arrival and seeming ill-health, on Friday his departure with Yvonne.

Tony spoke quite calmly. He had never been anything but calm since first, in the house in Laura Place, he had received that awful blow.

"I ought to have known," he concluded dully, "I ought to have guessed.

Especially since you warned me."

"I warned you that Martin-Roget was not the man he pretended to be,"

said Blakeney gently, "I warned you against him. But I too failed to suspect the duc de Kernogan. We are Britishers, you and I, my dear Tony," he added with a quaint little laugh, "our minds will never be quite equal to the tortuous ways of these Latin races. But we are not going to waste time now talking about the past. We have got to find your wife before those brutes have time to wreak their devilries against her."

"On the high seas ... on the way to Holland ... thence to Coblentz ..."

murmured Tony, "I have not yet shown you the duc's letter to me."

He drew from his pocket the crumpled, damp piece of paper on which the ink had run into patches and blotches, and which had become almost undecipherable now. Sir Percy took it from him and read it through:

"The duc de Kernogan and Lady Anthony Dewhurst are not on their way to Holland and to Coblentz," he said quietly as he handed the letter back to Lord Tony.

"Not on their way to Holland?" queried the young man with a puzzled frown. "What do you mean?"

Blakeney drew his chair closer to his friend: a marvellous and subtle change had suddenly taken place in his individuality. Only a few moments ago he was the polished, elegant man of the world, then the kindly and understanding friend--self-contained, reserved, with a perfect manner redolent of sympathy and dignity. Suddenly all that was changed. His manner was still perfect and outwardly calm, his gestures scarce, his speech deliberate, but the compelling power of the leader--which is the birth-right of such men--glowed and sparkled now in his deep-set eyes: the spirit of adventure and reckless daring was awake--insistent and rampant--and subtle effluvia of enthusiasm and audacity emanated from his entire personality.

Sir Percy Blakeney had sunk his individuality in that of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"I mean," he said, returning his friend's anxious look with one that was inspiring in its unshakable confidence, "I mean that on Monday last, the night before your wedding--when I urged you to obtain Yvonne de Kernogan's consent to an immediate marriage--I had followed Martin-Roget to a place called "The Bottom Inn" on Goblin Combe--a place well known to every smuggler in the county."

"You, Percy!" exclaimed Tony in amazement.

"Yes, I," laughed the other lightly. "Why not? I had had my suspicions of him for some time. As luck would have it he started off on the Monday afternoon by hired coach to Chelwood. I followed. From Chelwood he wanted to go on to Redhill: but the roads were axle deep in mud, and evening was gathering in very fast. n.o.body would take him. He wanted a horse and a guide. I was on the spot--as disreputable a bar-loafer as you ever saw in your life. I offered to take him. He had no choice. He had to take me. No one else had offered. I took him to the Bottom Inn.

There he met our esteemed friend M. Chauvelin...."

"Chauvelin!" cried Tony, suddenly roused from the dull apathy of his immeasurable grief, at sound of that name which recalled so many exciting adventures, such mad, wild, hair-breadth escapes. "Chauvelin!

What in the world is he doing here in England?"

"Brewing mischief, of course," replied Blakeney dryly. "In disgrace, discredited, a marked man--what you will--my friend M. Chauvelin has still an infinite capacity for mischief. Through the interstices of a badly fastened shutter I heard two blackguards devising infinite devilry. That is why, Tony," he added, "I urged an immediate marriage as the only real protection for Yvonne de Kernogan against those blackguards."

"Would to G.o.d you had been more explicit!" exclaimed Tony with a bitter sigh.

"Would to G.o.d I had," rejoined the other, "but there was so little time, with licences and what not all to arrange for, and less than an hour to do it in. And would you have suspected the Duc himself of such execrable duplicity even if you had known, as I did then, that the so-called Martin-Roget hath name Adet, and that he matures thoughts of deadly revenge against the duc de Kernogan and his daughter?"

"Martin-Roget? the banker--the exiled royalist who...."