‘I helped you once. Would you like to help me now?’
‘Indeed I would, sir. Please tell me what I can do?’
‘Where’s Miss Virginia?’
She started at that, and the colour went out of her face.
Then –
‘She’s in her room, sir, I think. She was there half an hour ago.’
‘Why d’you think she’s still there?’
‘Because – she’s not very well, sir.’
‘D’you mean she’s in bed?’
‘Oh, no, sir.’
‘D’you think she’s alone?’
‘I don’t know, sir. She was alone when I left her but–’
‘Are you her maid?’
‘For the moment, sir. Suzanne has gone to Madame.’
‘Who d’you think may be with her?’
‘Monsieur le Comte.’
‘Good God,’ said I. ‘They’re not married?’
‘They were married this afternoon. They are to stay here for the present. And the door between has been opened, and he has the room next to hers.’
‘And you are her maid,’ said I. ‘But how nice for you.’
She shrugged her shoulders helplessly.
‘It really looks,’ said I, ‘as if I might help you again.’ I glanced at the staircase. ‘Can I get to my room that way?’
‘Yes, sir. Would you like me to show you?’
I nodded.
‘I want to get to the hall. Then I’ll know where I am. It’s important that no one should see me. Will you go first?’
At my words she started again, and her eyes grew wide. Then she glanced right and left and took to the stairs…
‘You wait here, sir,’ she whispered, ‘while I go into the hall. If I do not return at once, it will mean there is somebody there.’
‘All right,’ said I. ‘And now listen. The moment I’m out of the hall, go to Miss Virginia. Don’t knock on her door. Just go straight into her room.’
She looked at me very hard.
‘Very well, sir.’
The hall was empty and the girl as good as her word – with the happy result that, before two minutes were past, she and I were both in Virginia’s bedroom and Carson was on guard in the system with his back to the panelled door.
Virginia was not very well, because Virginia was drugged. I never saw man or woman in such a pitiful state. Her mind was like a battery that has almost run down. It could work very slowly and feebly, but its output was next to nothing and could not command her will. There was no spirit in her: and her mind was an empty surface on which she was the only person who could not write.
She stared from me to the maid and then on the floor. But when I bade her rise, she did so without a word.
That Gaston had dared to go through a form of marriage with a creature so utterly helpless fanned to a flame the anger with which I was ruled, and had he come into his room, I believe I should have broken his neck. But, happily for us both, he did not come, and his chamber was still in darkness when the three of us entered the system and made for a winding stair.
I have shown that the private passage which ran from Mansel’s quarters to the guard-room was shut by two doors which were locked. But both the locks were spring-locks, and could be opened by hand from the guard-room side. Once, therefore, we had gained the guard-room, we had a way out of the castle as secret as it was safe.
When we came to the narrow stair which led to the guard-room grate, I turned to the maid.
‘From now Miss Virginia’s your mistress. I will look after your future, so long as you stay with her.’
The girl glanced over her shoulder: but only Carson was there to hear her reply.
At length –
‘It is understood, sir,’ she whispered.
A moment later we stood in the guard-room itself.
As I let them into the passage –
‘D’you know where you are, Carson?’
‘I think so, sir. This leads to the Captain’s room.’
‘And the stable-yard,’ said I. ‘Take them down to the Rolls and come back – as quick as you can. I shall wait for you here by this door. When you get back, knock twice, and I’ll let you in. The other door you must wedge.’
‘Very good, sir.’
I turned to the maid.
‘My servant is going to take you down to my car. You will get in and sit there until I come.’
‘Very well, sir,’ she said obediently.
I watched the three pass down the passage: then I shut the door behind them and set my back to the oak.
So far we had been very lucky. Nobody knew of my presence, and Virginia was out of the wood. But Mansel remained in the tower. I was sure he was there. More. I had an uneasy feeling that he was in the cell next to mine…where the chain was very much shorter and did not end in a cuff… The questions were first how to reach him and then how to set him free.
How many floors the tower had I do not know to this day. But, as I have said before, its ground floor was the guard-room and its first floor part of the suite belonging to Vanity Fair: but the stair which joined these two storeys was shut by a heavy door. When Carson returned, therefore, we must re-enter the system, climb the first winding stair and find some door which gave to the woman’s apartments or else, on the second floor, to the tower alone. And that sounds easy enough… The trouble was that I was by no means sure that the system ran into the tower, while I had an unpleasant feeling that though it would show us a door which gave to the woman’s suite, that door would be locked.
I afterwards learned that both these suspicions were just, and since, though I did not know it, there was no time to be lost, had we re-entered that system, it would have cost Mansel his life. And we should have re-entered that system if Carson had been back to time. But Virginia collapsed in the meadows, and his journey took five minutes longer than we had hoped.
It was now ten minutes to nine, and out of sheer impatience I opened the door to the passage and strained my ears. Carson would be back in five minutes – perhaps in less. With my eyes on the dial of my wrist-watch – the only thing I could see, for I had no torch – I stood there, like any schoolgirl, wringing my nerves for nothing and doubling every minute that whiled away. It follows that when they were gone, but Carson had not returned, the fever which I had been courting possessed my soul.
I cursed myself for not sending the girls alone: I cursed myself for seeking Virginia first: I cursed myself for waiting for Carson: and I made up my mind that if he did not come before nine, I would wedge the door with my wrist-watch and enter the system alone.
Two haggard minutes limped by.
And then I heard someone stumble…on the farther side of the door which gave to the stairs.
In a flash I had shut my door and had whipped to the jamb of the fireplace and out of view.
The next moment the door was opened and the doorway was full of light.
Esther appeared – Esther, the personal maid of Vanity Fair.
She had a sheet on her arm: and in her hands was the end of another sheet. This seemed to be laid upon the steps, and there she seemed to wish it to stay, for she did not pull on her end, but only laid it down gently upon the flags. Then she shook out her second sheet, laid it end to end with the first and then stepped swiftly backwards, paying it out as she went. It was more than long enough to reach to the postern door – which gave to the meadows west of Jezreel.
And then and there I knew that Esther was laying a train.
The sheets were dry now, but, when she was ready to leave, she would come down those steps with petrol, soaking the sheets as she went. And then she would open the postern… And then she would strike a match… And then she, and whoever was with her, would vanish into the night.
I watched her go back up the stair. Shut the door behind her, she could not, for the sheet lying over the threshold was heavily bunched. And, as her footfalls faded, I heard Carson knock…
Of such are the ways
of Fate.
If Virginia had not fallen by the way, then Carson would not have been late. If Carson had not been late, then we should have left the guard-room before Esther came down. And if I had not been there, to see Esther come down, Jonathan Mansel would have been burned alive.
With Carson behind me, I whipped up the steep, stone staircase and into a hall that I knew – the hall that served the apartments of Vanity Fair.
Now, though our goal was the room in which Mansel was lodged, we must first prevent the mischief which Esther was going to do. And if we were to do this, we had not a moment to spare. The suite was reeking of petrol, and the carpet laid in the hall was already wet.
A light was burning in ‘the Star Chamber’. Pistol in hand, I thrust in. But the exquisite salon was empty: Esther was somewhere else.
As I swung about, someone exclaimed.
Then –
‘Don’t go yet, William,’ said Mansel. ‘I want your help.’
Mansel was in the sedan-chair.
For eleven hours he had sat there, because, though he entered himself, he could not get out.
The chair was especially lovely, and rich without and within. But it was a blind chair: that is to say it had no windows, but only a row of air-holes high up in each of its sides. Its roof was fixed, and the doors could not be opened, except from without. I do not know for whom it was built, but it must have been built for someone who went in fear of his life, for from top to bottom that chair was lined with steel. I cannot think what it weighed, and it must have required four chairmen, instead of two, but the fact remains its work was very well done and, once he was seated within and the doors were shut, only a very Samson could ever have broken out. Had he had room to move, the great strength which Mansel had might have set him free, but, as luck would have it, the chair was smaller than most, and so restricted all movement that he could not bring his strength into play.
Had we not arrived when we did, he was going to use his pistol upon the lock of the door. In fact, he had it drawn ready. But that was the counsel of despair, for his chance of so bursting the lock was certainly very much less than the chance of his being killed by a ricochet, to say nothing of the concussion which must have left him senseless for some considerable time.
I sometimes wonder whether there was not some trick by which the doors could be opened by someone within the chair – some trick which had baffled Mansel, for all his wit: but I am told that chairs that lacked handles inside were not at all uncommon, and I do not find it likely that Vanity Fair ever entered this chair herself. If it was used, it was probably used by a witness whose presence she wished to conceal, for, thanks to the rows of air-holes, anyone in the chair could see and hear what he pleased.
What Mansel had seen and heard, he shall presently tell for himself: at that moment he told me nothing.
As I helped him out of the chair –
‘Virginia,’ he said. ‘She’s–’
‘Virginia’s safe,’ said I. ‘She’s down in the Rolls.’
‘Well done,’ said Mansel. ‘That only leaves old Below.’
As he stepped to the door –
‘But what about Esther?’ said I. ‘She’s going to fire the place.’
‘Let her,’ said Mansel. ‘Come on.’
In a flash we were out of the suite.
How Mansel moved so fast, I shall never know: after a day in that chair, I should, I am sure, have been crippled for half an hour: but he afterwards said that he had made it his business not to get stiff, in case, when once he got out, he should have to run. Be that as it may, he led us at break-neck speed – through the mahogany doors, down the stairs to the lobby and up by a tiny staircase into a low-pitched room.
And there he stopped dead, and a hand went up to his mouth.
‘Too late,’ he breathed: ‘it’s too late.’ And then, ‘It can’t be helped.’
His words conveyed nothing to me: but that was because of my surroundings – because I could think of nothing but what I saw.
There was no light in the room, which, though it was nearly square, had only three walls. Where the fourth wall should have risen, there was stretched a very thin veil. And beyond the veil were the depths of the dining-room, that very lovely chamber which I have elsewhere described.
And Vanity Fair was at table…
We were, of course, in the musicians’ gallery, which hung like a cave high up in the dining-room’s wall: and the veil was the Gobelin tapestry with which the dining-room was hung. But while these things are easy enough to write, I despair of conveying the impressions I then received.
Of the four who were sitting at meat, not one had the faintest idea that they were being observed. We could not be seen, and, so very thick was the carpet which lay on the floor and the stairs, we could not be heard. Yet we could see all they did and hear all they said, as they sat in their stalls below us, some twenty feet down. We stood in the dark, while they sat in a blaze of light: and, perhaps because this remarkable picture was framed – for framed it was by the square of the gallery’s mouth – I had the feeling that I was seeing some film and that soon the lights would go up and we should go home. I remember turning to Carson and asking him if he could see.
Vanity Fair was at table. Acorn sat on her right and Below on her left. Gaston, as always, faced her. The cloth had been drawn and the servants were out of the room.
One thing at once caught my eye.
A bottle was standing on the table in front of Vanity Fair.
This was out of all order. No bottle ever stood on the table until she had left the room.
Below was speaking. His glass was cupped in his hands.
‘Madam,’ he said, ‘this is brandy. I have never drunk such a liquor for thirty-five years.’
‘I’m afraid that’s my fault. You’ve been with me thirty-three.’
‘Not your fault, madam, only your whim. You have “kept the good wine until now”.’
‘“And when men have well drunk”.’
‘Touché,’ cried the chaplain, and buried his nose.
His mistress advanced the bottle.
‘Have another glass,’ she said. ‘You’ll need it before I’ve done.’
Below helped himself.
‘Do your worst, madam,’ he hiccoughed. ‘I am forearmed.’
Gaston tossed off his brandy and filled his glass.
‘I have tasted worse,’ he said.
‘Where?’ said Vanity Fair. ‘On the Pompadour?’
Below was consumed with indignation.
‘You poisonous bounder,’ he belched. ‘I was a judge of brandy before your father was jailed.’
Acorn was shaking with laughter: but Vanity Fair only smiled.
‘The church militant,’ she said. ‘You’d better help yourself, Acorn, and see how you feel.’
‘And you, madam?’ said Acorn, bottle in hand.
‘I have no need of courage,’ said Vanity Fair.
The only coward present took the slight to himself.
‘Do you say that I drink to find courage?’
‘I think you’d be well advised to,’ said Vanity Fair.
Gaston laughed.
‘I am tired of Jezreel,’ he said softly. ‘I think I will go to Paris. You see, I am married now.’
‘To five thousand a year?’
Gaston shrugged his shoulders.
‘I have done my part,’ he declared. ‘I do not choose to rest in this house.’
‘I see. And how will you live?’
‘I do not think that you will allow me to starve.’
Vanity Fair laughed.
‘Optimist,’ she said lightly. And then, ‘By the way, I ought to have told you, Chandos knows who you are.’
Gaston started violently.
‘Chandos? That – that–’
‘English gentleman,’ said Vanity Fair.
Gaston writhed.
‘What does he know?’
‘One night in his presence you mention
ed the Pompadour. And Chandos had friends on board. A Mr and Mrs Cheviot. You may recollect them – by sight.’
‘It is not true,’ mouthed Gaston.
‘As you please,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘They knew your master quite well. He borrowed your clothes one night and took your place.’
Gaston’s face was working.
‘What can they prove?’
‘Nothing,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘All his relations are dead, so you’re perfectly safe. Chandos merely confirmed the report of his eyes and ears. That you look like a waiter is nothing: so, it seems, did de Rachel himself. But your ways are the ways of a waiter and will never be anything else. You have a waiter’s instincts, a waiter’s tastes – and if you must know, why, I think that your master cursed you before he died, for the leprosy of Gehazi creeps in your hang-dog eyes.’
This shocking denunciation sobered even Below, for he seemed to forget his brandy and wagged his head and raised his eyes to heaven, as though he were a Judge’s Chaplain, accorded a seat on some Bench. For Gaston himself, from being most red, the fellow went white as ashes, and when Acorn passed him the brandy, he emptied his glass and refilled it without a word.
The spirit revived him forthwith.
As he set down the bottle –
‘After all, who is Chandos?’ he said. Vanity Fair raised her eyebrows.
‘If you want to know,’ she said, ‘I should keep an eye on The Times. I think he’s going to marry Virginia Brooch.’
For one moment there was dead silence. Then something like uproar arose.
Both Below and Gaston were talking violently, at first demanding information and then each rending the other and bidding him hold his peace. Acorn stared straight before him, with a shadow of a smile on his lips.
‘Madam,’ boomed Below, ‘this is serious–’
‘Serious?’ screamed Gaston. ‘Whom have I married today?’
‘I believe her name to be Schmidt,’ said Vanity Fair. ‘Mabel Schmidt of Utah, a–’
A yelp of rage from Gaston smothered what else she said.
‘But, Madam–’
‘Silence, drunkard,’ howled Gaston. Before the other could counter, he had turned upon Vanity Fair. ‘Is this your sense of humour? Or how should you know?’
‘He admitted as much this morning.’
She Fell Among Thieves Page 23
