The Shadow of Tyburn Tree rb-2

by Dennis Wheatley

  "Not from a man such as myself. A bold and violent woman touches a responsive chord in my own nature; more especially when such qualities are enshrined in one so superbly beautiful as yourself. At what hour shall I wait upon you to-night?"

  "To-night!"

  "Why, yes. For the cementing of our friendship."

  Her eyes were wide and frightened again, but she knew how vitally important it was to keep his goodwill, so she said hurriedly. "Monsieur; you must surely see that it is impossible for me to receive you to-night. Bold and violent I may be in some things; but I am not without a sense of decency. My husband died only this morning and his body still lies unburied in the house. 'Twould not only be unfitting but a most shameful act."

  "I'll not believe that you are seriously troubled by such squeamishness," he smiled. "A woman of your metal must know that love tastes at its best when 'tis salted with death. For myself, were any added incentive needed, the thought of the part you played this morning would provide it."

  She shrank away from him, exclaiming: "Nay! Nay! I will lie with no man to-night."

  "You mock me still, then," he said with sudden harshness. "Do you accept my friendship or reject it? Answer."

  "I—I accept it," she stammered, now terrified at the thought of what he might do if she made him her enemy. "But you ask too much of me. Perhaps when I come to London...."

  "Do you take me for a fool, Madame! What value can you expect me to place upon any promise you may make after your treatment of me last night. Think you I'll give you rope to send your Mr. Brook to put a further slight upon me at some future date? No, no! The inquest is to-morrow, and after it my trump-card will have lost its value. You will pleasure me to-night or never."

  "You cannot—you cannot mean that you would tell all you know— all you suspect, unless I consent?"

  He bowed ironically. "Madame; you have summed up the situation

  perfectly. Events have placed you completely in my power; and for having so lightly given Mr. Brook the preference over myself, after having raised my hopes, I mean to make you pay to the last farthing. By eleven o'clock you will see to it that you are alone and that the door of your chamber is unbolted."

  Something snapped in Georgina's brain. White to the lips and with her eyes blazing, she cried: "I'll do no such thing! I will not lie with you to-night or at any other time. Nay, never! Not if you were the last man on earth. I will hang rather! Now, get you from my sight! Be gone this instant, or I will ring for my servants to throw you from the house."

  "Such a show of spirit makes you more desirable than ever," he mocked her; but he moved quietly to the door. At it he turned and delivered a final ultimatum. "You still have two hours in which to think matters over, Madame. No doubt time will restore your calm and reflection bring you wisdom. You can send me a message by your maid. But remember; only your kisses to-night can seal my lips at the inquest to-morrow."

  CHAPTER VI

  THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

  WHEN the door had closed behind Vorontzoff, Georgina did not give way to either tears or panic. Her rage was white-hot but she knew that this was no time to allow hysteria to overcome her; She had to think, and use her brain calmly and logically in order to decide which she should take of two horrible alternatives.

  The Russian's threat to make her pay to the last farthing was ample evidence of the intensity of the bitterness she had aroused in him the night before. She had sensed the barbarian streak in him and now knew that it lay more than skin deep. He was vicious, brutal and unscrupulous to the last degree. She felt certain that if he could not have her he was quite capable of destroying her.

  Had she alone been concerned she would have stuck to her guns and taken a desperate gamble on the Russian being disbelieved; but she had Roger to think of. His swiftly made plan to save them both had proved sound in all essentials. Vorontzoff alone had seen through it; and that only on account of the special knowledge he had of the previous night's events. He alone had had reason from the start to suppose that Roger had been with her, thus making it easy for him to connect the weal on Roger's hand with the mark on her neck. He alone had known that she kept the scent-bottle not on her dressing-table, but by her bed. Everyone else had accepted the story she had told in its entirety. And there was every reason now to suppose that, subject to the Russian keeping his mouth shut, it would also be believed at the official inquiry.

  She knew that any chance she had, so far, of escaping the terrible penalty which must follow discovery, she owed to Roger's quick wits and sure handling of her during those moments of crisis. Now it was her turn. She had it in her power to save the situation; could she do less for him? He would not wish her to, at the price; of that she was certain. But his life was in her hands. Her conviction would mean his too. There was no escaping that; and she could not let him die. She loved him with a greater, deeper, more constant Jove than she would ever feel for any husband. Whatever it cost her she must save him by her surrender.

  She thought then of what that would mean, and a little shudder ran through her. Somehow, last night the same prospect had seemed at first intriguing, then vaguely distasteful and rather frightening, but no worse than that. Now it was horrible—repulsive. She recalled again Vorontzoff saying that he would make her pay to the last farthing, and wondered what he had meant. She had a fairly shrewd idea. To revenge himself the more fully he intended to treat her with unbridled viciousness and brutality. It had been her sensing of his desire to do that during their first encounter which had frightened her. And now there would be no reason why he should put any re­straint upon himself. Last night, if he had handled her roughly, she could have got rid of him by threatening to call for help, and saying that he had forced his way into her room against her will. But she would not be able to do that to-night. He would continue to hold his black­mail over her and force her to submit to his every wish for seven long hours, until dawn at last set her free.

  Little beads of perspiration broke out on her broad forehead and her hands were damp. She wondered with a sick feeling, that made her near to vomiting, whether she could go through with it, even to save Roger's life and her own. As in a nightmare, ghastly scenes with the Russian and herself as the actors seethed in her brain. Grimly a thought came to her. She had always loved weapons, and in the drawer of her bedside table she kept a beautifully chased Italian stiletto. If the Russian drove her too far she would use it on him.

  If she killed him they would hang her for that. But no; if she swore that he had crept into her room while she was asleep and had tried to rape her, they would let her off. Her eyes glittered dangerously. That was the solution to this dreadful business. The stiletto was sharp as a razor and no wider than her thumb at its broadest part. One swift blow and it would be all over. Then, whatever might happen to her, Count Vorontzoff would have got his just deserts, and, with the closing of his mouth for good, Roger, at least, would be safe.

  At that last thought another struck her. It was going to prove difficult, if not impossible, to keep Roger out of this new develop­ment. She never went to sleep before midnight, and whenever she and Roger spent the night apart it was his habit to come to her room and give her a good-night kiss before retiring to his own. It was certain that he would do so to-night, and as Vorontzoff proposed to come to her at eleven Roger would find the Russian with her. That could now result in only one thing; another killing in her bedchamber.

  She began to consider how she could prevent Roger coming to her, but could see no way to do so. Not having seen her all day he must be consumed with anxiety about her state of mind and desperately anxious to prime her further for to-morrow's inquest.

  It occurred to her that she could send a note to Vorontzoff putting him off till after midnight, but she feared that if she made the assign­ation for later than one o'clock he would rebel, and send a reply insist­ing that she should give him full value for his money. And even a two-hour, postponement was no certain guarantee against a clash. Roger would hav
e so much to talk over with her that he might easily remain until long after one, and if she tried to get rid of him prematurely it was certain that he would suspect something.

  It dawned on her then that, as their minds were so well attuned, he would suspect something in any case. It was useless to attempt to deceive him. They could both lie convincingly to other people, when the need arose, but they were not good liars to one another. She knew that before he had been with her for ten minutes the whole miserable story would come out.

  There was only one thing for it. She must send for Roger and tell him the truth. She need not tell him her worst fears. She could spare him those, at least, and she would say nothing of her intentions if driven to desperation; then, hate the thought as he might, he would assume that she was paying no higher price for their safety than she had been apparently quite willing to pay for the Russian's political influence on the previous night. She must hear anything that he had to say about the inquiry to-morrow, now; and positively forbid him to come in to her later.

  Having made up her mind she scribbled a note, asking Roger to come to her boudoir as soon as he could find an opportunity, and sent it down by Jenny.

  For a quarter of an hour she paced her room consumed with im­patience. Then Roger appeared. They exchanged a single look, and without a word, flew to one anothers arms.

  "My love," he murmured. "I have been driven near crazy from the thought of you here alone and uncomforted all day."

  "And I for you," she whispered back. "Our separation at such a time has proved nigh insupportable to me; yet I knew 'twas wise that we should remain apart."

  He held her away from him and smiled. "Yet all goes well! You need fear nothing from this inquest which is being held to-morrow. The court will consist only of local farmers and shopkeepers from the village; mostly tenants of your own; so naturally subservient from their station. They will accept your father's version of what occurred before you appear. All you will be called on to do is to confront them dressed in black and give the bare outline of your story. They'll ask no questions but simply offer you their sympathy."

  She let him finish, then slowly shook her head. "All does not go well, dear Roger. Let me see your hand."

  With a sudden frown he held it up, bound round with a silk hand­kerchief. "What of it? There is a red weal across the back where 'twas caught by Sir Humphrey's whip. But no one suspects that. I have given out. . . ."

  "Someone not only suspects, but knows it," she interrupted. "Who?" he gasped.

  "Vorontzoff! He was here but half an hour back, and he has guessed the truth." She then gave Roger a brief resumé of her interview with the Russian.

  When she had done, he said abruptly. "You cannot do this. I will not have it."

  "Why not?" she countered. " 'Tis my affair and a small enough price to pay for both our necks."

  "It would have gone against the grain with you last night. You admitted that."

  "Upon your coming I felt the contrast, I'll agree. Yet earlier I had thought it might be quite amusing. I feel that way about it again to-night."

  "Georgina, you are lying. I can see it in your eyes."

  She sighed. "Roger, dear heart, I beg you not to make things more difficult for me. I did not count my blessings when I had them, and like a fool was led on by curiosity to play with fire. This morning it threatened to consume us both in an inferno, but your wit and courage has saved us from that. Now, at worst, it can but scorch me a little, and to-morrow you will be here to kiss me well again. Do not be stubborn and oppose me in this. To-night will be even harder for you to bear than for me. That, I now realise, and am shamed that I set so little store on what your feelings might be before. But now I have no choice, and you must support this burden with such fortitude as you can muster. I would not even have told you of it, had it not been imperative that I should warn you that in no circumstances must you come to my room. To-morrow we'll start life anew. But' to-night I am determined to see this matter through. There is no other course."

  During her outburst Roger had been holding her by the arms and looking straight into her face. He now released her, and, thrusting his hands into his breeches pockets, began to walk angrily up and down.

  "There is another course," he muttered. "That is for me to send Vorontzoff a challenge."

  " 'Tis useless. He would simply laugh at you. Since he has both of us in his clutches he would be crazy to accept it. And even if he was fool enough to do so you could not fight until to-morrow morning."

  "I could waylay him in his room to-night before he comes to you, force him to fight there, and kill him."

  "You'll attempt no such thing!'' she declared firmly. " 'Twould be counted murder and they would hang you for it. If you do I'll announce the reason for your act and confess the whole affair from the beginning. That I swear, by my love for you. So you would have gained nothing and have my blood upon your hands as well."

  He knew from her tone that she meant it and that it would be futile to argue with her; yet his whole nature cried out in protest against tamely accepting the present situation. With a scowl upon his face he continued to pace to and fro, vainly seeking a way out of the snare in which they had been caught.

  She watched him narrowly, praying that her ultimatum would prove a sufficient deterrent to prevent him from risking his life afresh, in a desperate attempt to relieve her of the hateful thing to which she was committed.

  For a long time neither of them spoke. She could almost see his brain seething with revolt, as he thought up idea after idea only to reject each in turn as either useless or impractical; but she dared not break in upon his deliberations for fear of precipitating a decision on his part to adopt some desperate course. She was hoping, that given a little time, he would become calmer and accept the inevitable.

  At last he spoke. "So be it, then. You shall give the Russian the assignation he demands; but not in your chamber. There are pens and paper in your secretaire. I pray you sit down there and write as I shall dictate."

  "Roger, what have you in mind?" she asked nervously.

  "Oblige me by doing as I say," he replied with a hard note in his voice; and when she had seated herself he went on. "No superscription is necessary. Simply write as follows:

  "Privacy is essential to our meeting, and any interruption of it would prove most dangerous to you as well as to myself. For reasons which you will guess, it is beyond my power to ensure our remaining undisturbed together in my apartments. Therefore, I pray you, be in the Orangery at midnight, and when all is quiet I will join you there."

  In a bold, flowing hand Georgina wrote as she was bid. When she had done Roger said, with a thoughtful narrowing of his eyes. "You need say no more. On reading that he will assume that you have not dared to tell me of the demand he has made upon you, and can think of no means to guard with certainty against my coming to you myself sometime during the night. He will have the sense to see that in such a case bloody murder would result; so, albeit somewhat reluctantly, he will accept the rendezvous you offer him in the Orangery instead of coming to your room."

  "How will that serve us, apart from the postponement of the meeting shortening by an hour the time that I must spend in his company?"

  A sudden smile lit up Roger's face. "If he reacts as I have forecast, my pet, you will not be called on to spend a single moment in his com­pany. 'Tis I, not you, who will keep this midnight rendezvous/'

  She started up from her desk. "I have already vowed that if you kill him. . . ."

  "Nay, I seek but an opportunity to converse with him secure from interruption."

  "Why waste your breath? Neither prayers nor threats will move him from his purpose; and your intervention will serve only to irritate him further."

  "That we shall see. If Jenny is still up I pray you send him the note by her."

  Georgina hesitated. "I—I can scarce believe that you intend no more than to talk with the Russian. I'll not send this note unless you pledge me your honour that you
meditate no attempt upon his life."

  "I give you my word that at this interview I will not seek to draw him into a fight, or by any other means shed one drop of his pestifer­ous blood. Is that enough?"

  She smiled, rather wanly. "I know the clever brain that lies behind those seemingly innocent blue eyes of yours too well, not to suspect that it has formulated some audacious scheme. Yet I must take your word, lest I drive you to some more desperate measure. When may I hope to learn the outcome of the meeting?"

  "Persuading him to see reason may take some time, and I should be loath to rouse you from your sleep."

  She gave a bitter little laugh. "How can you think I'd find it possible to sleep, until I know what to expect?"

  "Then I will look in upon you on my way to bed. But be not anxious for me if the hour grows late before my coining."

  "No matter the hour, I'll thank God on my knees if it be you who comes at all. I'll not believe that I've escaped him till I see you."

  Roger took her hand. "Be not so despondent, sweet; but send the note, and put your trust in me."

  "I will. I beg you, though, to have a care for your dear self. He is a monstrous tricky beast and may seek to do you some injury if you detain him overlong."

  'Til keep good watch against that," he promised. Then, after a single kiss, he left her.

  She had only just given the note to Jenny when her father came in. As he stooped to Mss her cheek his lean face broke into a smile, and he said:

  " 'Tis good to learn that you are already sufficiently recovered to receive visitors, m'dear; as I had felt that in any case this evening 'twould be as well for us to have a talk." Then he made himself com­fortable in an armchair opposite her.

  father and daughter were so close in heart and mind that he was fully aware how matters had lain between her and her late husband, so she felt no restraint in talking to him about her marriage, and made

  no secret of the fact that she was thoroughly glad to be rid of Sir Humphrey.

  The Colonel added his assurances to those Roger had already given her, that the inquest would be no more than a formality; then they dropped the subject and talked for a while of interesting places that they might visit when next they went abroad together.