The Wicked Marquis

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  Richard Vont, as though he had been sitting there listening for theraising of the latch, was on his feet before David could enter thesitting room.

  "The Lord's day has come," he muttered, dragging him in. "It's been aweary while, but it's come."

  David threw off his overcoat in silence, and the old man lookedwonderingly at his clothes.

  "You've been taking your dinner up with them--at the house?" he asked.

  David nodded.

  "Yes," he assented. "Your note found me there. I came as soon as Icould."

  "I never doubted ye," the old man muttered. "I knew you'd come."

  David, suddenly stifled, threw open the cottage window. When he cameback into the little circle of lamp-light, his face was pale and set.He was filled with a premonition of evil.

  "I want you to listen to me, uncle," he said earnestly. "I havesomething to say."

  "Something to say?" the old man repeated. "Another time, myboy---another time. To-night you have work to do," he added, with afierce flash of triumph in his eyes.

  "Work?"

  "Aye!--to keep your oath."

  "But to-night? What can I do to-night?" David exclaimed. "No, don'ttell me," he went on quickly. "I'll have my say first."

  "Get on with it, then. There's time. I'm listening."

  "I have forgotten nothing," David began, "I am denying nothing. Iremember even the words of the oath I swore."

  "With your hand upon the Bible," Vont interrupted eagerly,--"your handupon the Book."

  David shivered.

  "I am not likely to forget that night," he said. "What I swore we bothknow. Well? I have begun to keep my word. You know that."

  "Aye, and to-night you'll finish it!" Vont cried, with uplifted head."After to-night you'll be quit of your oath, and you can go free of me.I've made it all easy for you. It's all planned out."

  "I must finish what I have to say," David insisted. "It's been on mymind like lead. He's a ruined man, uncle--beggared to the last penny.I've dishonoured myself, but I've done it--for your sake. Beyond thatI cannot go."

  "You cannot go?" Vont muttered blankly.

  "I cannot. I don't know what this scheme of yours is, uncle, but leaveme out of it. I'm in Hell already!"

  "You think--"

  Vont was breathing heavily. The words suddenly failed him, his fingersseemed to grip the air. David had a momentary shock of terror. Then,before he could stop him, the old man was down upon his knees, holdinghim by the legs, his upraised face horrible with a new storm of passion.

  "David, you'll not back out! You'll not break that oath you swore whenI lent you the money--all my savings! And it might have gone wrong,you know. It might have beggared me. But I risked it for this! Youdon't know what I've been through. I tell you there isn't a night,from darkness till nigh the dawn, I haven't toiled with these hands,toiled while the sweat's run off my forehead and my breath's gone fromme. And I've done it! I've made all ready for you--and to-night--it'sto-night, boy! If you go back on me, David, as sure as that Book's thetruth, you shall know what it is to feel like a murderer, for I'll sitand face you, and I'll die! I mean it. As God hears me at thismoment, I mean it. If you falter to-night, you shall find me deadto-morrow, and if it blackens my lips, I'll die cursing you as well ashim--you for your softness because they've flattered you round, himbecause he still lives, with the wrong he did me unpunished."

  David dragged him up by sheer force and pushed him back into his chair.

  "What is it you want me to do?" he asked in despair.

  "You can't refuse me," Vont went on, his voice strong enough now."Watch me and listen," he added, leaning forward. "There's my hand onthe Book. Here's my right hand to Heaven, and I swear by the livingGod that if you fail me, you shall find me to-morrow, sitting dead.That's what your broken oath will do."

  "Oh, I hear," David answered drearily. "I'll keep my word. Come, whatis it?"

  Vont rose deliberately to his feet. All trace of passion seemed tohave disappeared. He took an electric torch from his pocket and ledthe way to the door.

  "Just follow me," he whispered.

  They made their way down the little tiled path to the bottom of thegarden. In the right-hand corner was what seemed to be the top of awell.

  "You remember that, perhaps?"

  David nodded.

  "I know," he said. "I used to play down there once."

  Vont rolled the top away, and, stooping down, flashed the light. Therewere stone steps leading to a small opening, and at the bottom themouth of what seemed to be a tunnel. David started.

  "It's one of the secret passages to Mandeleys!" he exclaimed.

  "There are seven of them somewhere," his uncle replied, in a hoarseundertone--"one, they say, from Broomleys, but that's too far, and theair would be too foul, and maybe it don't lead where I want it to.I've made air-holes along this, David. You take the torch, and youmake your way. There's nothing to stop you. It's dry--I've sprinkledsand in places--and there's air, too. When you come to the end there'sa door. Four nights it took me to move that door. It's wide open now.Then you mount a little flight of stairs. They go round and round, andat the top there's a little stone landing. You'll see before you whatseems to be blank wall. You press your palms on it--so--and soon youfind an iron handle. It'll turn easy--I've oiled it well--and you stepright into the room."

  "What room?" David demanded, in bewilderment.

  The old man's fingers clutched his arm.

  "Into the bedchamber of the Lady Letitia Mandeleys!" he proclaimedtriumphantly. "Keep your voice low, boy. Remember we are out ofdoors."

  "Into the--! Are you mad, uncle?" David muttered, catching at hisvoice as though it were some loose quality that had escaped from him.

  "There's never a saner man in this county," was the fierce reply."It's what I've worked for. It's the worst blow I can deal his pride.Oh, I know she is a haughty lady! You'll step into her chamber, andshe'll see you, and she'll shriek for her servants, but--but, David,"he added, leaning forward, "they'll find you there--they'll find youthere! The Marquis--he'll be told. The nephew of Richard Vont will befound in his daughter's chamber! There'll be explanations enough, butthose things stick."

  David suddenly found himself laughing like a madman.

  "Uncle," he cried, "for God's sake--for Heaven's sake, listen to me.This is the maddest scheme that ever entered into any one's head. Ishould be treated simply like a common burglar. I should have noexcuse to offer, nothing to say. I should be thrown out of the house,and there isn't a human being breathing who'd think the worse of theLady Letitia. You don't know what she's like! She's wonderful!She's--"

  "I'll not argue with you, boy," Vont interrupted doggedly. "You thinkI know nothing of the world and its ways, of the tale-bearing and thestory-telling that goes on, women backbiting each other, men graspingeven at shadows for a sensation. You'll do your job, David, you'llkeep your oath, and from to-night you'll stand free of me. There'll beno more. You can lift your head again after you've crossed thatthreshold. Make what excuse you like--come back, if you will, like afrightened hare after they've found you there--but you'll have stood inher bedchamber!"

  David shivered like a man in a fever. He was beginning to realise thatthis was no nightmare--that the wild-eyed man by his side was in soberand ghastly earnest.

  "Uncle," he pleaded, "not this. Lady Letitia has been kind andgracious to me always. We can't strike through women. I'd rather youbade me take his life."

  "But I don't bid you do anything of the sort," was the sullen reply."Death's no punishment to any man, and the like of him's too brave tofeel the fear of it. It's through her the blow must come, and you'lldo my bidding, David, or you'll see me sitting waiting for youto-morrow, with a last message to you upon my dead lips."

  David gripped the torch from his hand. After all, Hell might come toany man!

  "I'll go," he said.

/>   It was a nightmare that followed. Stooping only a little, flashing historch always in front, he half ran, half scrambled along a paved way,between paved walls which even the damp of centuries seemed scarcely tohave entered. Soon the path descended steeply and then rose on theother side of the moat. Once a rat paused to look at him with eyesgleaming like diamonds, and bolted at the flash of the torch. Morethan once he fancied that he heard footsteps echoing behind him. Hepaused to listen. There was nothing. He lost sense of time ordistance. He stole on, dreading the end--and the end came sooner eventhan he had feared. There was the door that yielded easily to histouch, the steep steps round and round the interior of the tower, theblank wall before him. The iron handle was there. His hands closedupon it. For a moment he stood in terrible silence. This wassomething worse than death! Then he set his teeth firmly, pressed thehandle and stepped through the wall.

  Afterwards it seemed to him that there must have been somethingmortally terrifying in his own appearance as he stood there with hisback to the wall and his eyes fixed upon the solitary occupant of theroom. Lady Letitia, in a blue dressing gown, was lying upon a couchdrawn up before a small log fire. There seemed to be no detail of theroom which in those sickening moments of mental absorption was notphotographed into his memory. The old four-poster bedstead, hung withchintz; the long, black dressing table, once a dresser, coveredcarelessly with tortoise-shell backed toilet articles, with a largemirror in the centre from which a chair had just been pushed back.But, above all, that look in her face, from which every otherexpression seemed to have permanently fled. Her lips were parted, hereyes were round with horrified surprise. The book which she had beenreading slipped from her fingers and fell noiselessly on to thehearth-rug. She sat up, supporting herself with her hands, one oneither side, pressed into the sofa. She seemed denied the power ofspeech, almost as he was. And then a sudden wonderful change came tohim. He spoke quite distinctly, although he kept his voice low.

  "Lady Letitia," he said, "let me explain. I shall never ask for yourforgiveness. I shall never venture to approach you again. I have comehere by the secret passage from Vont's cottage. I have come here tokeep an oath which I swore in America to Richard Vont, and I have comebecause, if I had broken my word, he would have killed himself."

  He spoke with so little emotion, so reasonably, that she found herselfanswering him, notwithstanding her bewilderment, almost in the same key.

  "But who are you?" she demanded. "Who are you to be the slave of thatold man?"

  "I am his nephew," David answered. "I am the little boy who playedabout the park when you were a girl, who picked you up on the ice oncewhen you fell. All that I have I owe to Richard Vont. He sent me tocollege. He lent me the money upon which I built my fortune, but onthe day he lent it to me he made me swear a terrible oath, and to-nighthe has forced me to keep it by setting foot within your chamber. Now Ishall return the way I came, and may God grant that some day you willforgive me."

  Almost as he spoke there was a little click behind. He started roundand felt along the wall. There was a moment's silence. Then he turnedonce more towards Letitia, his cheeks whiter than ever, his sunken eyesfilled with a new horror. Even the composure which had enabled him toexplain his coming with some show of reason, had deserted him. Heseemed threatened with a sort of hysteria.

  "He followed me! Damn him, he followed me!" he muttered. "I heardfootsteps. He has fastened us in!"

  He tore desperately at the tapestry, shook the concealed door andrattled it, in vain. Letitia rose slowly to her feet.

  "You see what has happened," she said. "Richard Vont was more cunningthan you. He was not content that you should make your little speechand creep back amongst the rats. Tell me, what do you propose to do?"

  He looked around him helplessly.

  "There is the window," he muttered.

  She shook her head.

  "We are on the second story," she told him, "and there is nothing tobreak your fall upon the flags below. To be found with a broken neckbeneath my window would be almost as bad as anything that could happen."

  "I am not afraid to try," he declared.

  He moved towards the window. She crossed the room swiftly andintercepted him.

  "Don't be absurd," she admonished. "Come, let us think. There must bea way."

  "Let me out of your room on to the landing," he begged eagerly. "If Ican reach the hall it will be all right. I can find a window open, orhide somewhere. Only, for God's sake," he added, his voice breaking,"let me out of this room!"

  A flash of her old manner came back to her.

  "I am sorry you find it so unattractive," she said. "I thought itrather pretty myself. And blue, after all, is my colour, you know,although I don't often wear it."

  "Oh, bless you!" he exclaimed. "Bless you, Lady Letitia, for speakingto me as though I were a human being. Now I am going to steal out ofthat door on tiptoe."

  "Wait till I have listened there," she whispered.

  She stole past him and stooped down with her ear to the keyhole. Shefrowned for a moment and held out her hand warningly. It seemed to himthat he could feel his heart beating. Close to where he was standing,her silk stockings were hanging over the back of a chair.--He suddenlyclosed his eyes, covered them desperately with the palms of his hand.Her warning finger was still extended.

  "That was some one passing," she said. "I don't understand why. Theyall came to bed some time ago. Stay where you are and don't move."

  They both listened. David seemed in those few minutes to have lost allthe composure which had become the habit of years. His heart wasbeating madly. He was shaking as though with intense cold. LadyLetitia, on the other hand, seemed almost unruffled. Only he fanciedthat at the back of her eyes there was something to which as yet shehad given no expression, something which terrified him. Then, as theystood there, neither of them daring to move, there came a sudden awfulsound. It had seemed to him that the world could hold no greaterhorror than he was already suffering, but the sound to which theylistened was paralysing, hideous, stupefying. With hoarse, brazennote, rusty and wheezy, yet pulled as though with some desperateclutch, the great alarm bell which hung over the courtyard was tollingits dreadful summons.

  Letitia stood up, her cheeks ghastly pale. She, too, was strugglingnow for composure.

  "Really," she exclaimed, "this is an evening full of incidents.--Don'ttouch me," she added. "I shall be all right directly."

  For a single moment he knew that she had nearly fainted. She caught atthe side of the wall. Then they heard a cry from outside. A sparkflew past the window. A hoarse voice from somewhere below shouted"Fire!" And then something more alarming still. All down thecorridor, doors were thrown open. There was the sound of eagervoices--finally a loud knocking at the door which they were guarding.Letitia shrugged her shoulders.

  "This," she murmured, "is fate."

  She opened the door. There was a little confused group outside. TheMarquis, fully dressed, stood with his eyes fixed upon Thain at firstin blank astonishment,--afterwards as one who looks upon some horriblething. Grantham in a dressing gown, took a quick step forward.

  "My God, it's Thain!" he exclaimed. "What in hell's name--?"

  Letitia turned towards her father.

  "Father," she began--

  The Marquis made no movement, yet she was suddenly aware of somethingin his expression, something which shone more dimly in the face of heraunt, which throbbed in Grantham's incoherent words. Her brave littlespeech died away. She staggered. The Marquis still made no movement.It was David who caught her in his arms and carried her to the couch.He turned and faced them. In the background, Sylvia was clinging toGrantham's arm.

  "You gibbering fools!" he cried. "What if an accursed chance hasbrought me here! Isn't she Lady Letitia, your daughter, Marquis?Isn't she your betrothed, Grantham? Your niece, Duchess? Do you thinkthat anything but the rankest and most accursed accident could
everhave brought me within reach even of her fingers?"

  No one spoke. The faces into which he looked seemed to David like ahideous accusation. Suddenly Gossett's voice was heard from behind.

  "The fire is nothing, your lordship. It is already extinguished. Someone seems to have brought some blazing brambles and thrown them intothe courtyard."

  "Get some water, you fools!" Thain shouted. "Can't you see that she isfaint?"

  The Duchess began to collect herself. She advanced further into theroom in search of restoratives. The Marquis came a step nearer toThain.

  "Tell me how you found your way into this room, sir?" he demanded.

  "By the foulest means on God's earth," Thain answered. "I came throughthe secret passage from Vont's cottage."

  "Without Lady Letitia's knowledge, I presume?" Grantham interposedhoarsely.

  "No one but a cad would have asked such a question," David thundered."I broke into her room, meaning to deliver one brief message and to goback again. Vont followed me and fastened the door.--Can't you readthe story?" he added, turning appealingly to the Marquis. "Don't youknow who I am? I am Vont's nephew, the boy who played about here yearsago. I lived with him in America. He paid for my education atHarvard; he lent me the money to make my first venture. He has beenall the relative I ever had. Out there I pledged my word blindly tohelp him in his revenge upon you, Marquis, in whatever manner he mightdirect. To-night he sprung this upon me. I was face to face with myword of honour, and the certainty that if I refused to fulfil my pledgehe would kill himself before morning. So I came. It was he who rangthe alarm bell, he who planned the pretence of a fire to trap me here.This was to be his vengeance.--Be reasonable. Don't take thismiserable affair seriously. God knows what I have suffered, these lastfew minutes!"

  Letitia sat up, revived. She was still very pale, and there wassomething terrible in her face.

  "For heaven's sake," she begged, "bring this wretched melodrama to anend. Turn that poor man out," she added, pointing to David. "Hisstory is quite true."

  Every one had gone except the Marquis and Grantham. Neither of themspoke for several moments. Then the Marquis, as though he were awakingfrom a dream, moved to the door, opened it and beckoned to David.

  "Will you follow me," he invited.

  Very slowly they passed along the great corridor, down the broad stairsand into the hall. The Marquis led the way to the front door andopened it. Neither had spoken. To Thain, every moment was a moment ofagony. The Marquis held the door open and stood on one side. Davidrealised that he was expected to depart without a word.

  "There is nothing more I can say?" he faltered despairingly.

  The Marquis stood upon his own threshold. He spoke slowly and with acurious lack of expression.

  "Nothing. It is the times that are to blame. We open our houses andoffer our hospitality to servants and the sons of servants, and weexpect them to understand our code. We are very foolish.--Since youhave broken this silence, let me spare myself the necessity of furtherwords. If your contrition is genuine, you will break the lease ofBroomleys and depart from this neighbourhood without further delay. Myagent will wait upon you."

  Without haste, yet before any reply was possible, the Marquis hadclosed the great door. David was once more in the darkness, staggeringas though his knees would give way. The avenue stretched unevenlybefore him. He started off towards Broomleys.