The Thin Red Line; and Blue Blood Part 61

"What is the meaning of this movement in the Tchernaya?" he asked.

"You understand French of course? People of your trade speak all tongues."

"I speak French," replied McKay, "but English is my native tongue. I am a British officer--"

"I have told you of his pretensions, Excellency," interposed the Cossack officer.

"Yes, yes! this is mere waste of time. What is the meaning of this movement in the Tchernaya, I repeat? Tell me, and I may save your life."

"You have no right to ask me that question, and I decline to answer it, whatever the risk."

"An obstinate fellow, truly!" said the general, half to himself. "What do you call yourself?"

Then followed a conversation very similar to that which had taken place at Tchorgoun.

"I, too, knew your father," said the general, shaking his head. "It is a bad case; I fear you must expect the worst."

"I shall meet it as a soldier should," replied McKay, stoutly. "But I shall always protest, even with my dying breath, that I have been foully and shamefully used. I appeal to you, a Russian officer of high rank, of whose name I am ignorant--"

"My name is Todleben, of the Imperial Engineers."

McKay started, and, notwithstanding the imminent peril of his position, looked with interest upon the man who was known, even in the British lines, as the heart and soul of the defence.

"I appeal to you, sir," he pleaded, "as a general officer, a man of high honour and known integrity, to protect me from outrage."

"I can do nothing," replied Todleben, gravely, shrugging his shoulders. "The Prince himself will decide. Take him away. I cannot waste time with him if he is not disposed to speak. Let him be kept a close prisoner until the Prince is ready to see him."

The general then bent his head over his plans, and took no further notice of McKay.

Our hero was again marched into the yard, made to remount, re-bound, and led off towards the princ.i.p.al part of the town. They now skirted the ridge of the Karabel suburb, and began to descend. Half way down they came upon a series of excavations in the side of the hill. These were old caves that had been enlarged and strengthened with timbers and earth. Each had its own doorway, a ma.s.sive piece of palisading.

They were used as barracks, casemated, and practically safe during the siege. Into one of these McKay was taken; it was empty; the men who occupied it were on duty just then at the Creek Battery below. In one corner lay a heap of straw and old blankets, filthy, and infested with the liveliest vermin.

One of the escort pointed to this uninviting bed, and told the prisoner he might rest himself there. McKay, weary and disconsolate, gladly threw himself upon this loathsome couch. They might shoot him next morning, but for the time at least he could forget all his cares in sleep.

CHAPTER VIII.

FROM THE DEAD.

We have seen how the news of Stanislas McKay's capture by the Russians was communicated to his uncle, Mr. Faulks.

Next day the brief telegram announcing it was published in the morning papers, with many strong comments. Although some blamed the young officer for his rashness, and others held Lord Raglan directly responsible for his loss, all agreed in execrating the vindictive cruelty of the uncompromising foe.

General sympathy was expressed for Mr. McKay; the most august person in the land sent a message of condolence to his mother through Lord Essendine, who added a few kindly words on his own account.

"What curse lies heavy on our line? It seems fatal to come within reach of heirship to the family-honours. Ere long there will be no Wilders left, and the t.i.tle of Essendine will become extinct," wrote the old peer to Mrs. McKay. "Your boy, a fine, fearless young fellow, whom I neglected too long and who deserved a n.o.bler fate, is the latest victim. Pray Heaven he may yet escape! I will strive hard to help him in his present dire peril."

Lord Essendine was as good as his word. He had great influence, political and diplomatic: great friends in high place at every court in Europe. Among others, the Russian amba.s.sador at Vienna was under personal obligations to him of long standing, and did not hesitate when called upon to acknowledge the debt.

Telegrams came and went from London to Vienna, from Vienna to St.

Petersburg, backwards and forwards day after day, yet nothing was effected by Lord Essendine's anxious, energetic advocacy. The Czar himself was appealed to, but the Autocrat of All the Russias would not deign to intervene. He was inexorable. The law military must take its course. Stanislas McKay was a traitor and the son of a traitor; he had been actually taken red-handed in a new and still deeper treachery, and he must suffer for his crime.

At the end of the first fortnight McKay's relations and friends in England had almost abandoned hope. This was what Mr. Faulks told Mrs.

Wilders, who called every day two or three times, always in the deepest distress.

"Poor boy! poor boy!" she said, wringing her hands. "To be cut off like this! It is too terrible! And nothing--you are sure nothing can be done to save him?"

"Lord Essendine is making the most strenuous efforts; so are we. Even Sir Humphrey Fothergill has been most kind; and the War Minister has repeatedly telegraphed to Lord Raglan to leave no stone unturned."

"And all without effect? It is most sad!" She would have feigned the same excessive grief with the Essendine lawyers, to whom she also paid several visits, but the senior partner's cold eye and cynical smile checked her heroics.

"You will not be the loser by poor McKay's removal," he said, with brutal frankness, one day when she had rather overdone her part.

"As if I thought of that!" she replied, with supreme indignation.

"It is impossible for you not to think of it, my dear madam. It would not be human nature. Why shouldn't you? Mr. McKay was no relation."

"He was my dear dead husband's devoted friend. Nursed him after his wound--"

"I remember to have heard that, and indeed everything that is good, of Mr. McKay. I feel sure he would have made an excellent Earl of Essendine; more's the pity."

"I trust my son, if he inherits, will worthily maintain the credit of the house."

"So do I, my dear madam," said old Mr. Burt, with a bow that made the speech a less doubtful compliment.

"When will it be settled? Why do they hesitate? Why delay?" she said to herself pa.s.sionately, as she went homewards to Thistle Grove. Her friend Mr. Hobson was there, waiting for her; and she repeated the question with a fierce anxiety that proved how closely it concerned her.

"How impatient you grow! Like every woman. Everything must be done at once."

"I am not safe yet. I begin to doubt."

"Can't you trust me? I have a.s.sured you it will end as you wish. When have I disappointed you, Lady Lydstone?"

She started at the sound of this name, once familiar, but surrounded now by memories at once painful and terrible.

"It is the rule in your English peerage that when a son becomes a great peer, and the mother is only a commoner, to give her one of the t.i.tles. Your Queen does it by prerogative."

"I might have been Lady Lydstone by right, if I had waited," she said slowly.

"And you repent it? Bah! it is too late. Be satisfied. You will be rich, a great lady, respected--"

She made a gesture of dissent.

"Yes; respected. Great ladies always are. You can marry again--whom you please; me, for instance--"

Again the gesture: dissent mixed with unmistakable disgust.