‘I cannot leave you, madam: but you can leave me.’
Vanity Fair frowned.
‘Pray sit down, Mr Chandos. When I rise you will know that this interview is at an end.’
With a sigh of resignation, I did as she said.
‘Be sure that that air won’t help you,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘You can fight me as much as you like, but you’ll only annoy me by kicking against the pricks. You have been arrested and charged. Well, you quarrelled with your arrest, as I knew you would. I, therefore, took pains to show you that any hopes you might harbour of righting that particular wrong would be disappointed. Now if my demonstration had been less convincing, you would, I think, have been wise to decline to discuss the charge. In fact, to be perfectly frank, that is what I should have done in your place. But now that it’s clear that your future depends entirely on me and that, however I may use you, the shadow of retribution can never fall on my path, to decline to discuss the charge would be, I think, the act of a fool. I mean, you’ve nothing to lose.’
‘Oh, I see that all right,’ said I. ‘But, frankly, it irritates me when you talk about theft.’
‘D’you prefer the word “abduction”?’
‘“Abduction”?’ said I, staring.
‘An idiot child was abducted a week ago. I associate you with the crime.’
‘An idiot child.’ A wave of fury swept through me and left me cold.
‘Am I to be downright?’ I said.
‘I advise you to be.’
‘Then one of us, madam, is mad. But I don’t think it’s me.’
There was another silence, of which I was very glad, for so far I had kept my temper, but now, for the moment, it had the upper hand.
‘An idiot child.’
The offensive phrase had provoked me as had nothing else: and the mother’s contemptuous tone had made still more outrageous the outrage her tongue had done. I knew that beneath my tan I was white with rage.
Virginia’s words came to my mind. They say ‘clever as sin’, don’t they? Well, she is sin. It was true. Sin was ensconced before me – in the shape of a beast of a woman, a ghoul that dishonoured its dead. In her lust for gold, she had seized her daughter’s birthright, ravished her understanding and put her away. And now she was blowing upon her, defaming the very nonsuch that she had debauched.
I had pitied the woman, and feared her: I had admired and despised her: at times I had felt a liking for Vanity. But now these emotions were gone: and only a deadly hatred possessed my heart. In the window-seat was crouching a hag.
My thoughts whipped back to Jenny – that blessed, gentle darling that knew no wrong. I remembered the light in her eyes and the breath of her parted lips. I saw her grave face above me, as I lay with my head in her lap and I felt the touch of her fingers, disposing my dripping hair. I remembered her arrival at Anise and how, when Jill had come running, Jenny, all shy for an instant, had hidden her face in my coat. I saw her sleeping and walking and ‘sitting in front’ in the car. I could hear her cries of pleasure and watch the grace of her steps. I saw her at my feet in the greenwood, hanging upon my efforts to tell her of The Wind in the Willows and the folly of Mr Toad, and I saw – a tiny nosegay, that might have been made by a child and a fairy, between them, lying on the seat of the Rolls…
She had not bade me goodbye, when I had left for Jezreel. She was, I think, upset at my going, which indeed was natural enough. First, Jonathan, her beloved, from whom she had heard no word: and now her faithful William… She might have been forgiven for wondering who would go next and whether her precious dream was not coming about her ears. And so she was not there, when I went: and my going had been the darker – for want of the flash of her smile and the light in her eyes. And then I had noticed her nosegay – a little posy of harebells, because I had found them so pretty the day before… Little wonder that I worshipped a nature that knew how to make a gesture so lovely as that. Worshipped? Loved!
It was there in that cell at Jezreel, chained to the wall and bayed by Vanity Fair, that for the first time I knew that I was in love with Jenny… Jenny who was mad about Mansel… Mansel who was mad about her.
‘Are you quite sure you went to Burgos?’ said Vanity Fair.
I put a hand to my head.
‘Yes, I went to Burgos,’ I said. ‘I – I sent some boots from Burgos – some boots to Below.’
The woman regarded me curiously.
‘Think again,’ she said.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind.’
And I thought again of Jenny and how neither she nor Mansel must ever suspect that she could have filled the void which was for ever insisting that there was no object in life.
Vanity Fair was frowning. My demeanour was disconcerting: of that there can be no doubt.
‘A postmark tells no tales. Some boots were dispatched from Burgos, and the label the parcel bore was written by you. Are you still sure you went to Burgos?’
‘Yes, I went to Burgos all right. I said so just now.’
‘Kindly pull yourself together,’ said Vanity Fair.
I looked up angrily. Then, all of a sudden, my wits fell back into line. The past and the future faded, and the present took savage shape. I was up against Sin, sitting there, in the guise of a hag. And Sin was out to get Jenny… I moistened my lips.
‘I went to Burgos,’ I said.
‘By car?’
‘Of course.’
‘This morning I inspected your triptique. According to that, your car has never left France.’
This was, of course, correct. When I had visited Burgos, I did so in Mansel’s Rolls.
There was nothing to do but lie.
‘I didn’t use my triptique. I went into Spain on a pass.’
‘What a singular thing to do. Your triptique is ready and waiting: but rather than use it, you go off and purchase a pass.’
‘I rather imagine,’ said I, ‘you’d have done the same. Half Biarritz was crossing the frontier that afternoon. There was a queue before me of fifty or sixty cars. And those that were touring on triptiques were being turned aside and made to wait to the last, while those on passes went through. I didn’t take long to decide. I left my man with the car, crossed the road to a garage and paid them to make out a pass.’
‘How long did you stay at Burgos?’
I touched my head.
‘I don’t feel like addition this morning, so perhaps you will work it out. I stayed two nights at Bayonne, but I haven’t been anywhere else.’
‘I suggest that you have.’
‘I daresay you do,’ said I. ‘But I can’t help that.’
‘This manner won’t help you, Mr Chandos.’
‘It is perfectly clear that nothing will help me, madam – except a full confession of something I haven’t done.’
I am glad to record that that shook her. With the tail of my eye I could see the knit of her brows, and, after a little, a hand stole up to her chin.
Then –
‘Do you know the country about here?’
‘I know the country,’ said I, ‘which lies between here and Bayonne.’
‘More to the south.’
‘I’ve been over the Col de Fer.’
‘I know. And so to Gobbo, and there turned north for Bayonne. What I–’
‘As a matter of fact, I turned at Lally,’ I said.
‘Why at Lally, instead of Gobbo? Most people turn at Gobbo, if they’re en route for Bayonne.’
I shrugged my shoulders.
‘It’s of no importance,’ I said, ‘but I think you’ve got the towns mixed. Gobbo lies west of Lally, about five miles.’
‘Would you like to bet, Mr Chandos?’
I shook my head.
‘That’s as well,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘You see, I know you’re right. But if you turned north at Lally, how do you know?’
I had walked clean into the trap. The only thing to do was to brazen it out.
‘I can only suppose,’ said I, ‘that I
know from the map.’
‘Haven’t you been to Gobbo?’
‘No.’
‘Yet you know its name: and you know it’s five miles from Lally, travelling west. Can you tell me as much of any other town – that does not lie on the road from here to Bayonne?’
‘I don’t know that I can,’ said I. ‘But Gobbo’s a curious name. I suppose it stuck in my mind.’
‘Like the distance and the direction? Well, well…’ She rose to her feet. ‘I suppose you didn’t notice that Gobbo would have lain on your road, if you had been travelling south.’
I stood up straight.
‘Madam,’ said I, ‘I am sick of supposition. For all I knew you can go to hell through Gobbo. Well…what if you can?’
‘Only this,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘You’d be going out of your way. You don’t have to go by Gobbo…to get to hell…from Jezreel.’
With that, she turned and left me: and the door of the chamber was shut.
I think I could fill up a book with the many meditations to which I gave myself up for the next two hours: but since they may be imagined, I will do no more than report that one and all pointed to misfortune and some to catastrophe.
That my days were numbered was clear: so far as I was concerned, Vanity Fair had stepped over the safety line: though she were to find me guiltless, she simply could not afford to let me live. Virginia would go to pieces: the shock of her brutal betrayal would break her down. Mansel was presently doomed: when he learned that I was not at Anise, he would instantly seek to unearth me – at any cost: his attempt must needs unmask him, and Vanity Fair would award him a traitor’s end. And Jenny would be left high and dry, to make what she could of life – and to find it a broken dream, that no one could ever mend. But one thing, at least, I was spared, and that was the contemplation of heart-ache to come. What is love? ’Tis not hereafter… Jenny might have come into my life, but her tenancy did not matter – because the head lease was up.
Soon after noon Lafone appeared with some luncheon, and when I had eaten, I made up my mind to rest: in spite of all my troubles I slept very well for four hours: and I think I might have slept longer, but for the slam of my door: but that, no doubt, was Lafone’s idea of attention, for when I sat up I saw some tea by my side.
No doubt my sleep refreshed me, for whilst I was taking my tea the thought came into my head that though things were desperate enough, something might be saved from the wreck if only I could escape. Something? All could be saved…
At once I began to consider this most forlorn of all hopes and, for what it is worth, I will say how I went to work.
I remembered the famous Jack Sheppard and how that great-hearted man had escaped from ‘the Castle’ in Newgate, the strongest ward in the jail. Five doors had barred his passage, and he had reduced them all – and that, with irons on his legs…
Again I inspected my bonds. They might, I thought, be broken: but that I dared not attempt until it was dark. I then regarded my prison, inch by inch. Fireplace there was none. The ceiling, like the walls, was of stone. The door looked immensely strong, and the plate which accepted its lock was clearly outside the chamber – an ugly thought. The window remained – the window I could not reach.
The afternoon sunshine showed me that the window faced south by east, and that meant that a man, leaning out, would find the terrace below him, perhaps some sixty feet down. Had the window faced north, a man, leaning out, would have found the roof below him – the steep-pitched roof of Jezreel. And the roof would be twenty feet down – perhaps twenty-five. And then there were dormer windows… But the window did not face north.
I asked myself what I should do if the tower was afire…
Then and there I decided that, once I had burst my bonds, I should let myself down by my sheets and do my best to swing myself on to the roof. I doubted that this would receive me, because the pitch was so steep: but, if it did, I should try to reach one of the dormers and so climb into a room.
And there I let my exercise go, for the thought of such a venture made the palms of my hands grow wet. For all that, I knew in my heart that Jack Sheppard would have escaped – and have gone that way.
It was not until seven o’clock that once more the shutter was drawn and Lafone looked into the cell. I supposed she had come with my dinner, but when the door was opened, it was Vanity Fair who appeared.
I shall always remember that moment – against my will.
She stood still as death in the doorway, while the door behind her was shut, and she made me think of some effigy, set in a niche in the wall. She was dressed, as always, in black and was holding one hand to her breast, while the other hung down by her side: since the oak behind her was dark and her little hood of black silk was hiding her hair, her face and her hands stood out in most sharp relief and might indeed have been waxen, they looked so pale. There was no denying her beauty, which, thus presented, seemed to have flouted age, and a smile that might have been Jenny’s hung on her parted lips. But the light in her eyes was not Jenny’s… I can only describe it as lazy – a lazy light. But a child could have read its meaning. The moment I saw it, I knew that the game was up.
‘I knew I was right,’ she said quietly. ‘The very first moment I saw you, I knew I was right.’
I made no answer, but only got to my feet.
‘Forgery, murder, abduction. If I chain you up, Mr Chandos, I don’t think you can complain.’
‘Have it your own way,’ said I.
‘I think that goes without saying,’ said Vanity Fair.
There was a little silence.
Then –
‘I’ve not come to ask questions,’ she said: ‘but I gave you some news this morning, and now I’ve come to give you some further news. It’s not very good news, Mr Chandos – from your point of view: but somehow or other I don’t think you’ll find it dull.
‘Marc left Jezreel in your car at a quarter to eight. His orders were to drive south, to berth the car near Carlos and leave her there. So he went by way of Gobbo – I think, though you’ve never been there, you know where that is. It was market-day in Gobbo, and Marc had to stop at the crossroads to let some cattle go by: and whilst he was sitting, waiting, a gendarme touched his hat and gave him good day.’
She paused, but I dared say nothing. I could not trust my voice.
‘Now Marc is no fool: and so he improved the acquaintance so unexpectedly made. “Out of the eater,” you know…
‘“You don’t know me,” said the gendarme, “but I know you.”
‘“Who am I?” said Marc, for he thought he might as well know.
‘“You’re the cousin of Mr Chandos and you’re driving his car.”
‘“Quite right,” said Marc, “but how on earth did you know?”
‘The gendarme told him, Mr Chandos…told Marc how he knew. And then – he – asked – after – Miss Chandos…the beautiful, delicate girl…who was sitting by the road to Carlos at four o’clock in the morning on Tuesday last…’
Though I knew her consumed with fury, her voice was gentle and steady as never before: and because it was so unnatural, I found this self-possession most hard to bear. Some string within me was taut: and every sentence she uttered strained it a little tighter… I almost prayed for an explosion. Such tension clawed at the nerves.
‘Well, Marc went on. And left the car by Carlos, as he had been told to do. But before he left her, he searched her – I told you the man was no fool. He found a document… Yes, I thought that that would surprise you. You left no document there. But the garage did, Mr Chandos. The Garage Central at Anise – a little village, I think, some seventy miles from Bordeaux…
‘It was a bill for work done. If the bill is honest, they drained the oil from your engine and put in new. And they did it on Wednesday last…the day after you ran through Gobbo…you and your beautiful sister… And it gives your address, Mr Chandos. The Black Lamb Hotel, Anise…’
That I stood like a rock was natural.
I was petrified with horror. The expression is literally true. Had the heaven itself fallen down, I could not have moved.
Vanity Fair nodded.
‘You have my sympathy. It must be extremely galling to see your achievement demolished because some clerk was too lazy to cross the road. Never mind. I’ve nearly done now. And I’ve no more surprises to spring, for the action I’ve taken is the action which you would have taken if you had been in my place.
‘Marc telephoned from Carlos. In view of his news, I told him to take your car and meet me at Maleton at four this afternoon. There he changed into clothes which I brought him, and at five o’clock he left in your car for Anise, bearing a note to your servant – as a few days ago a note was borne to my servant…up in the hills.
‘The note was written by Acorn – with the postcard you sent me from Burgos, he couldn’t go wrong. All the same he did it so well that I asked him to make me a copy. To tell you the truth, when he’d done so, I didn’t know which to send. I mean, they were both perfect – and if you’ll allow me to say so, much better than yours.’
She took the hand from her breast and I saw that it held a paper, folded again and again. She opened it carefully. Then she stepped forward and gave it into my hand.
I stared at my own handwriting.
Bell,
Bring Miss Jenny at once to Bayonne. Drop the bearer of this note at Bordeaux.
R C
Vanity Fair was speaking.
‘In a sense it’s a bow at a venture. But if Bell is at Anise, I think he’ll do as you say. At least, he’ll set out to do so – and, you know, it’s the effort that counts.
‘And now I must go. I’m afraid you’ll have to dine early, for Lafone has a journey to take and she wants to be off. She – has – to – get – a – room – ready…ready by dawn, Mr Chandos…a room at a house in the hills…
‘And so, good night. I will report progress tomorrow. If you try very hard I think you might break your chain. But I don’t think you’ll open that door. Of course, there’s always the window. But if you lean out, I think you’ll reject that way. And I shouldn’t call for assistance. The last man who called for assistance suffered terribly before he died.’
She Fell Among Thieves Page 18
