“With these words, he retired, Felton,” Milady continued. “I listened to the door as it opened and closed. Oh, Felton, I was not so much wracked by my sorrow, I confess, as by my shame at failing to avenge myself.
“My seducer kept his word. All that day and the following night he left me unmolested; but I too kept my word and night and day I neither ate nor drank. I had warned him I was resolved to starve; so I passed all those long hours in fervent prayer, trusting that God would forgive me for taking my own life.
“The second night the door opened; I was lying on the floor, my strength ebbing fast. At the sound I raised myself on one hand and I heard that hateful voice challenging me:
“ ‘Well, now, are we a whit meeker? And will we not pay for our liberty with a promise of silence? Come, my dear, I am a cheerful fair-minded sort of fellow. Though I frankly dislike men of the Puritan faith I do them justice exactly as I do justice to Puritan women when they are pretty. Come now, a very short oath upon the Cross, that is all I ask of you.’ ”
Felton craned his neck forward, his eyes bulging:
“He asked you to swear upon the Cross, My Lady?”
“Yes, Felton, this idolater and adulterer did exactly that! Suddenly all my strength returned. I rose to my feet. I said:
“ ‘I swear upon the Cross that never promise nor threat nor torture will seal my lips. I swear upon the Cross that I shall expose you everywhere as a murderer, a despoiler of honor and a dastard. I swear upon the Cross that if ever I escape from here I shall beseech all mankind to visit upon you the vengeance you deserve!’
“ ‘Have a care!’ He spoke more threateningly than I had ever heard him speak. ‘I still have a supreme means of making you hold your tongue. I do not wish to employ it save as a last resort. It is a dire one. It may not seal your lips completely but it will prevent anyone from believing a word you utter.’
“I rallied all my spent strength to laugh defiantly. He understood that thenceforth it was war to the death between us.
“ ‘Listen carefully,’ he told me. ‘I will give you the rest of this night and all day tomorrow to reflect. Think carefully, pledge silence and riches, consideration and honors are yours; breathe but a word of this, and I will condemn you to infamy.’
“ ‘You? To infamy?’
“ ‘Ay, to irremediable and everlasting infamy.’ ”
Milady concluded:
“I told him that unless he withdrew from my presence, I would bash my brains out against the wall of the room. He repeated I had until the next evening to make up my mind. As he left I fell to the floor and gnawed the carpet for very ignominy and pain! I—I—”
And she sobbed softly, her head on her shoulder. But this position did not prevent her from noticing that Felton was leaning for support on a stool near by. Triumphant in her knowledge that her recital had struck home, she smiled demoniacally.
LVII
HOW MILADY EMPLOYED THE TECHNIQUE OF CLASSICAL TRAGEDY TO PREPARE A MODERN ONE
There was a moment of silence which Milady employed in observing her young listener. Then she continued her recital.
It was more than three days, she related, since she had touched food or drink … she was suffering atrocious tortures … at times clouds passed over her, dimming her eyes and pressing heavily down on her forehead as through a haze she realized this was delirium.… When evening came she was so weak that she kept fainting at every moment and each time she fainted she thanked God because she believed she was about to die. Suddenly, in the midst of one of these fainting spells, she heard the door open. Terror brought her back to consciousness.
“And then,” Milady told her rapt listener, “he came in. He was masked but I recognized his step, I knew his voice and that proud, impressive air which hell bestowed upon his person for the ruin of humanity.”
He was followed, she added, by a companion, also masked. Her persecutor spoke up:
“Well!” he asked, “have you made up your mind to swear the oath I asked of you?”
To which Milady replied that her torturer had himself admitted that Puritans have but one word … that he had heard hers … and that she meant to pursue him on earth before the tribunals of men until she could do so before the Court of God in Heaven.
“So you persist?”
“I swear it before the God Who now hears me. I will call all earth to bear witness to your crime—that is, until I shall have found an avenger!”
“You are a whore,” he thundered, “and you shall submit to the punishment of common whores. Branded in the eyes of the world you hope to appeal to, how will you prove that you are neither guilty nor insane?”
Then, turning to his companion;
“Executioner,” he said, “do your duty.”
“His name, his name,” Felton pleaded. “Please tell me his name.”
“Then in spite of my cries, in spite of my resistance—for I realized I was facing something worse than death—the executioner seized me, threw me to the floor and pinned me down. I was choking with sobs, almost unconscious, calling for help from a God who did not heed me. Suddenly I shrieked for pain and humiliation. A burning fire, a red-hot iron, and the executioner had branded his mark upon my shoulder.”
Felton groaned.
“Look for yourself,” Milady said, rising with the majesty of a queen, “here, Felton, behold the new martyrdom invented for a pure young girl, the victim of a scoundrel’s brutality. Learn to know the hearts of men and henceforth do not offer yourself so readily to serve as the instrument of their iniquitous vengeance.”
With a swift gesture, Milady opened her dress, tore aside the cambric which covered her breast and, blushing with feigned anger and simulated shame, bared the ineffaceable imprint which marred her beautiful shoulder.
“But that is a fleur-de-lis!” Felton cried.
“That is the most shameful part of it all,” Milady answered. “Had the brand been the brand of England, it would have been necessary to prove what court had sentenced me; I could have made a public appeal to every court in the kingdom. But the brand of France! Ah, here was truly the brand of infamy!”
This was too much for Felton. Pale, stock-still, aghast at the horror of this revelation and dazzled by the beauty of this woman who bared herself before him with an immodesty which he found sublime, he finally fell on his knees before her. With just such fervor, the early Christians were wont to fall on their knees before the Virgin martyrs whom the emperors delivered in the circus to the bloodthirsty lubricity of the populace. The brand disappeared, beauty alone remained.
“Forgive me, forgive me,” Felton cried.
“Love me, love me!” Milady read in his glance as:
“Forgive you for what?” she asked.
“Forgive me for having joined with your persecutors.”
Milady held out her hand.
“So young! so beautiful!” Felton whispered, covering her hand with kisses. Milady, sure of herself, flashed on him the sort of look that makes a slave of a king. Felton, born and bred a Puritan, relinquished her hand and bowed down to kiss her feet. He no longer loved her now, he adored her.
The crisis past, Milady seemed to have recovered a self-possession which she had never lost; and Felton saw the veil of chastity once again cover those treasures of love so well hidden from him that they but made him desire them the more.
“Ah, now,” he pleaded, “I have only one more thing to ask you: the name of the real executioner. There can be but one; the other was merely the instrument of his wickedness.”
“Oh, my friend, my brother, need I name the villain? Can’t you guess—”
“So it’s he—he again—always he, the great criminal!”
“Ay, the arch criminal, the plague of England, the persecutor of true believers, the fiend who has ravished the honor of so many women. It is he who to satisfy a whim of his corrupt heart is about to plunge England into bloodshed. It is he who protects the Protestants today and will betray them tomorrow—”
“Buckingham!” Felton cried, exasperated. “So it was Buckingham!”
Milady hid her face in her hands, as though unable to bear the burden of shame this name recalled.
“Buckingham, the torturer of this angelic creature!” Felton moaned. “And Thou didst not destroy him with Thy thunder, O God? Instead Thou hast left him noble, honored and powerful to the greater ruin of us all?”
“God abandons those who abandon themselves, Felton.”
“But Buckingham will draw upon his head the punishment reserved for the damned!” Felton cried with growing excitement. “Buckingham invites human justice to forestall that of Heaven?”
“Men fear him and spare him.”
“Not I,” Felton protested. “I do not fear him and shall not spare him!”
An unholy joy swept over Milady. Surely her victim and her victim’s victim now lay in the hollow of her hand. Yet Felton, won over completely, nevertheless was inquiring:
“But how could Lord Winter, my protector, be mixed up in all this?”
“Ah, my friend, often the most cowardly and despicable of men dwell side by side with great and generous creatures. I was engaged to such a man whom I loved and who loved me. He had a heart like yours, Felton; he was a man like yourself. I went to him and told him all; he knew me, that man did, and he never for a moment doubted me. He was a great nobleman, a peer of Buckingham’s in every way. He said nothing; he merely reached for his sword, threw his cloak over his shoulder and made straight for Buckingham’s mansion.”
“Ah, yes, I see what he meant to do,” Felton commented. “But with men like Buckingham, you do not use a sword, it were too noble. You use a dagger!”
“Buckingham had left England the day before on a mission as Ambassador to Spain where he was to solicit the hand of the Infanta for King Charles the first, who was then but Prince of Wales. My fiancé returned, sad at heart.
“ ‘Darling,’ he told me, ‘this scoundrel has gone and so he has escaped my vengeance for the time being. Meanwhile let us marry as we had planned. Then, leave it to Lord Clark to uphold his honor and that of his wife.’ ”
“Lord Clark!” cried Felton. “Why, that was the—”
“The brother of Lord Winter. Now you must certainly understand everything? Buckingham stayed abroad almost a year! One week before his return, Lord Clark died, leaving me his sole heir. How did he come to die and whence came the blow? God, Who knows all, can answer. For my part I accuse nobody, yet—”
“What an abyss of infamy!”
“Lord Clark died without revealing anything to his brother. My terrible secret was to be scrupulously concealed until it burst, like a thunderbolt, over the head of the guilty. Your protector disapproved of this marriage between his elder brother and a girl without dowry or means; I felt I could not expect support from a man disappointed in his hopes of an inheritance. I therefore moved to France, resolved to spend the rest of my life there. But my entire fortune is in England. The war interrupted all communication between the two countries and I was in want of everything. Forced to return, I landed at Portsmouth six days ago.”
“And then—?”
“Then Buckingham must somehow or other have learned of my return. He spoke of me to Lord Winter who was already prejudiced against me, describing me as a prostitute and a branded woman. The pure, noble voice of my husband was not there to defend me. Lord Winter believed everything Buckingham told him, the more readily since it was to his interest to do so. He caused me to be arrested, conveyed me here and put me under your guard. The rest you know: the day after tomorrow, he is having me banished and deported, the day after tomorrow he is relegating me to the criminal classes. Ah, the web of treachery is shrewdly spun, I tell you! the plot is skilful! How can my honor avail against it? No, Felton, I must die; there is no other solution! Give me that knife!”
With these words, as though all her strength were exhausted, Milady sank back, weak and languishing, into the arms of the young officer. Mad with love, trembling with anger and swayed by strange new sensations, sensual and voluptuous, Felton pressed her against his heart, shuddering as he felt the breath from her red passionate mouth fanning his cheek and distracted by the contact of her firm throbbing breasts against his chest.
“No, no,” he vowed, “you shall live honored and pure, to triumph over your enemies.”
Milady put him away from her slowly with her hand, drawing him nearer the while with her glance. Felton, in turn, advanced to embrace her, his arms clasped close about her, imploring her as he might a goddess.
“O death, death!” she whispered, lowering her voice, her eyes half-closed. “Death rather than shame. Felton, my friend, my brother, have mercy upon me!”
“No, you shall live and you shall live avenged!”
“Alas, Felton, I bring disaster to all who come near me! Leave me, abandon me to my fate, let me die—”
“Well, then, we shall die together!” he cried, pressing his lips to hers.
There was a knocking at the door; this time Milady pushed him away in earnest.
“Listen! We are caught! People are coming. All is over; this is the end!”
Felton assured her that it was only the sentinel warning him that they were about to change guard.
“Then run to the door and open it yourself.”
Felton obeyed like a child, for her merest orders were now his every thought, his entire soul. In the doorway stood a soldier and, a few paces away, a sergeant commanding a watch patrol.
“Well, what is it, man?” the young lieutenant asked.
“You told me to open the door if I heard anyone cry out, sir,” the soldier replied. “But you forgot to leave me the key. I heard you cry out but I could not make out what you were saying. I tried to open the door but it was locked on the inside. So I called for the sergeant of the guard.”
“And here I am, Lieutenant,” the sergeant spoke up.
Felton, bewildered, almost crazed, stood quite speechless. Milady perceived instantly it was for her to cope with the situation. Running to the table, she seized the knife Felton had laid down.
“By what right will you prevent me from dying?” she cried theatrically.
“Great God!” Felton gasped as he saw the knife glittering in her hand.
An ironical burst of laughter resounded through the corridor. Lord Winter, attracted by the noise, stood in the doorway, clad in a dressing-gown:
“Well, well, well,” he said, “so this is the last act of the tragedy, eh? You see, Felton, the drama has followed all the phases I cited. But do not worry, no blood will flow.”
Milady knew that all was lost if she did not give Felton an immediate and terrible proof of her courage.
“You are mistaken, My Lord,” she said evenly. “Blood will flow and may it fall back on those who cause bloodshed.”
With a cry, Felton rushed toward her, but he was too late; Milady had already stabbed herself.
As luck—or better, as Milady’s skilled hand—would have it, the blade struck the iron busk of Milady’s corset, glanced down, ripped her gown and penetrated obliquely between her flesh and ribs. Her robe was nevertheless immediately stained with blood. She fell backwards as though in a faint. Felton snatched the knife from her limp hand.
“See, My Lord,” he said in a gloomy voice, “this woman was under my guard and she has killed herself!”
“Rest easy, Felton, she is not dead,” Lord Winter told him. “No demon dies so easily! Calm yourself and go wait for me in my room.”
“But, My Lord—”
“Go, sir, I command you.”
At this injunction from his superior, Felton obeyed; but as he went out he slipped the knife under his shirt. As for Lord Winter, he contented himself with summoning the woman who waited upon Milady. When she was come, he commended the still unconscious prisoner to her care and left the two women together. But since, all things considered, the wound might be serious, he sent a man off on horseback to fetch a physician.<
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LVIII
ESCAPE
As Lord Winter had thought, Milady’s wound was not dangerous. As soon as she found herself alone with the woman, she suffered herself to be undressed, then she opened her eyes.
But she must still feign weakness and pain which was no difficult task for a consummate actress like Milady. Accordingly, the poor chambermaid was so completely duped by the prisoner that despite Milady’s entreaties, she insisted on sitting up with her all night. Her presence did not prevent Milady from thinking over her plight from every point of view.
There could be no doubt that she had convinced Felton: he was now wholly hers! Had an angel from Heaven appeared to the young man to denounce Milady, in his present frame of mind Felton would certainly have taken the apparition for a fiend sent by the Evil One. Milady smiled at this thought, for Felton was now her only hope, her only means of safety.
There was also an unfavorable possibility: perhaps Lord Winter might suspect him and Felton might even now be under surveillance himself.
Toward four o’clock in the morning the doctor arrived, but in the interval since Milady had stabbed herself the wound had already healed. The doctor could therefore judge neither its direction nor its depth. He contented himself with taking the patient’s pulse; it proved that the case was not serious.
Later in the morning Milady, pretending that she had not slept all night and that she needed rest, dismissed the woman who had watched by her bedside. She had one hope, namely, that Felton would come at breakfast time. But he did not appear.
Were her fears realized? Would Felton, suspected by Lord Winter, fail at the decisive moment? She had only one day left: Lord Winter had given her notice that she was to embark on the twenty-third and today was the twenty-second. Nevertheless she still waited quite patiently until the dinner hour.
Though she had eaten nothing for breakfast, dinner was brought at the usual time. Milady was horrified to notice that the uniforms of the soldiers who guarded her had changed. When she ventured to ask what had become of Felton she was told he had left on horseback an hour ago. She inquired whether Lord Winter was still at the castle; the soldier replied that he was and that he had given orders to be informed if the prisoner wished to speak to him. Milady answered that she was too weak at present and that her only desire was to be left alone. The soldier went out, leaving the dinner served.
The Modern Library Children's Classics Page 122
