When Lysbeth parted from Elsa that afternoon she went straight tothe chamber of the Vrouw Jansen. It was a poor place, for after theexecution of her husband his wretched widow had been robbed of allher property and now existed upon the charity of her co-religionists.Lysbeth found her in bed, an old woman nursing her, who said that shethought the patient was suffering from a fever. Lysbeth leant over thebed and kissed the sick woman, but started back when she saw that theglands of her neck were swollen into great lumps, while the face wasflushed and the eyes so bloodshot as to be almost red. Still she knewher visitor, for she whispered:
"What is the matter with me, Vrouw van Goorl? Is it the smallpox comingon? Tell me, friend, the doctor would not speak."
"I fear that it is worse; it is the plague," said Lysbeth, startled intocandour.
The poor girl laughed hoarsely. "Oh! I hoped it," she said. "I am glad,I am glad, for now I shall die and go to join him. But I wish that Ihad caught it before," she rambled on to herself, "for then I would havetaken it to him in prison and they couldn't have treated him as theydid." Suddenly she seemed to come to herself, for she added, "Go away,Vrouw van Goorl, go quickly or you may catch my sickness."
"If so, I am afraid that the mischief is done, for I have kissed you,"answered Lysbeth. "But I do not fear such things, though perhaps if Itook it, this would save me many a trouble. Still, there are others tothink of, and I will go." So, having knelt down to pray awhile by thepatient, and given the old nurse the basket of soup and food, Lysbethwent.
Next morning she heard that the Vrouw Jansen was dead, the pest thatstruck her being of the most fatal sort.
Lysbeth knew that she had run great risk, for there is no disease moreinfectious than the plague. She determined, therefore, that so soon asshe reached home she would burn her dress and other articles of clothingand purify herself with the fumes of herbs. Then she dismissed thematter from her mind, which was already filled with another thought, adominant, soul-possessing thought.
Oh God, Montalvo had returned to Leyden! Out of the blackness of thepast, out of the gloom of the galleys, had arisen this evil genius ofher life; yes, and, by a strange fatality, of the life of Elsa Brantalso, since it was her, she swore, who had dragged down her father.Lysbeth was a brave woman, one who had passed through many dangers, buther whole heart turned sick with terror at the sight of this man, andsick it must remain till she, or he, were dead. She could well guesswhat he had come to seek. It was that cursed treasure of Hendrik Brant'swhich had drawn him. She knew from Elsa that for a year at least the manRamiro had been plotting to steal this money at The Hague. He had failedthere, failed with overwhelming and shameful loss through the braveryand resource of her son Foy and their henchman, Red Martin. Now he haddiscovered their identity; he was aware that they held the secret ofthe hiding-place of that accursed hoard, they and no others, and he hadestablished himself in Leyden to wring it out of them. It was clear,clear as the setting orb of the red sun before her. She knew theman--had she not lived with him?--and there could be no doubt aboutit, and--he was the new governor of the Gevangenhuis. Doubtless he haspurchased that post for his own dark purposes and--to be near them.
Sick and half blind with the intensity of her dread, Lysbeth staggeredhome. She must tell Dirk, that was her one thought; but no, she had beenin contact with the plague, first she must purify herself. So she wentto her room, and although it was summer, lit a great fire on the hearth,and in it burned her garments. Then she bathed and fumigated her hairand body over a brazier of strong herbs, such as in those days offrequent and virulent sickness housewives kept at hand, after which shedressed herself afresh and went to seek her husband. She found him ata desk in his private room reading some paper, which at her approach heshuffled into a drawer.
"What is that, Dirk?" she asked with sudden suspicion.
He pretended not to hear, and she repeated the query.
"Well, wife, if you wish to know," he answered in his blunt fashion, "itis my will."
"Why are you reading your will?" she asked again, beginning to tremble,for her nerves were afire, and this simple accident struck her assomething awful and ominous.
"For no particular reason, wife," he replied quietly, "only that weall must die, early or late. There is no escape from that, and in thesetimes it is more often early than late, so it is as well to be sure thateverything is in order for those who come after us. Now, since we are onthe subject, which I have never cared to speak about, listen to me."
"What about, husband?"
"Why, about my will. Look you, Hendrik Brant and his treasure havetaught me a lesson. I am not a man of his substance, or a tenth of it,but in some countries I should be called rich, for I have worked hardand God has prospered me. Well, of late I have been realising where Icould, also the bulk of my savings is in cash. But the cash is not here,not in this country at all. You know my correspondents, Munt and Brown,of Norwich, in England, to whom we ship our goods for the Englishmarket. They are honest folk, and Munt owes me everything, almost to hislife. Well, they have the money, it has reached them safely, thanks beto God, and with it a counterpart of this my will duly attested, andhere is their letter of acknowledgment stating that they have laid itout carefully at interest upon mortgage on great estates in Norfolkwhere it lies to my order, or that of my heirs, and that a duplicateacknowledgment has been filed in their English registries in case thisshould go astray. Little remains here except this house and the factory,and even on those I have raised money. Meanwhile the business is left tolive on, and beyond it the rents which will come from England, so thatwhether I be living or dead you need fear no want. But what is thematter with you, Lysbeth? You look strange."
"Oh! husband, husband," she gasped, "Juan de Montalvo is here again. Hehas appeared as the new governor of the gaol. I saw him this afternoon,I cannot be mistaken, although he has lost an eye and is much changed."
Dirk's jaw dropped and his florid face whitened. "Juan de Montalvo!" hesaid. "I heard that he was dead long ago."
"You are mistaken, husband, a devil never dies. He is seeking Brant'streasure, and he knows that we have its secret. You can guess the rest.More, now that I think of it, I have heard that a strange Spaniard islodging with Hague Simon, he whom they call the Butcher, and Black Meg,of whom we have cause to know. Doubtless it is he, and--Dirk, deathovershadows us."
"Why should he know of Brant's treasure, wife?"
"Because _he is Ramiro_, the man who dogged him down, the man whofollowed the ship _Swallow_ to the Haarlemer Meer. Elsa was with me thisafternoon, she knew him again."
Dirk thought a while, resting his head upon his hand. Then he lifted itand said:
"I am very glad that I sent the money to Munt and Brown, Heaven gave methat thought. Well, wife, what is your counsel now?"
"My counsel is that we should fly from Leyden--all of us, yes, this verynight before worse happens."
He smiled. "That cannot be; there are no means of flight, and under thenew laws we could not pass the gates; that trick has been played toooften. Still, in a day or two, when I have had time to arrange, we mightescape if you still wish to go."
"To-night, to-night," she urged, "or some of us stay for ever."
"I tell you, wife, it is not possible. Am I a rat that I should bebolted from my hole thus by this ferret of a Montalvo? I am a man ofpeace and no longer young, but let him beware lest I stop here longenough to pass a sword through him."
"So be it, husband," she replied, "but I think it is through my heartthat the sword will pass," and she burst out weeping.
Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch Page 40
