The Nest of the Sparrowhawk: A Romance of the XVIIth Century

by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  HUSBAND AND WIFE

  Mistress Martha Lambert was a dignified old woman, on whose wrinkledface stern virtues, sedulously practiced, had left their lastingimprint. Among these virtues which she had thus somewhat ruthlesslyexercised throughout her long life, cleanliness and orderliness stoodout pre-eminently. They undoubtedly had brought some of the deepestfurrows round her eyes and mouth, as indeed they had done round those ofAdam Lambert, who having lived with her all his life, had had to sufferfrom her passion of scrubbing and tidying more than anyone else.

  But her cottage was resplendent: her chief virtues being apparent inevery nook and corner of the orderly little rooms which formed her homeand that of the two lads whom a dying friend had entrusted to her care.

  The parlor below, with its highly polished bits of furniture, itsspotless wooden floor and whitewashed walls, was a miracle ofcleanliness. The table in the center was laid with a snowy white cloth,on it the pewter candlesticks shone like antique silver. Twostraight-backed mahogany chairs were drawn cozily near to the hearth,wherein burned a bright fire made up of ash logs. There was a quaintcircular mirror in a gilt frame over the hearth, a relic of former,somewhat more prosperous times.

  In one of the chairs lolled the mysterious lodger, whom a strange Fatein a perverse mood seemed to have wafted to this isolated little cottageon the outskirts of the loneliest village in Thanet.

  Prince Amede d'Orleans was puffing at that strange weed which of latehad taken such marked hold of most men, tending to idleness in them, forit caused them to sit staring at the smoke which they drew from pipesmade of clay; surely the Lord had never intended such strange doings,and Mistress Martha would willingly have protested against theunpleasant odor thus created by her lodger when he was puffing away,only that she stood somewhat in awe of his ill-humor and of his violentlanguage, especially when Adam himself was from home.

  On these occasions--such, for instance, as the present one--she had,perforce, to be content with additional efforts at cleanliness, and, asshe was convinced that so much smoke must be conducive to soot and dirt,she plied her dusting-cloth with redoubled vigor and energy. Whilst theprince lolled and pulled at his clay pipe, she busied herself all roundthe tiny room, polishing the backs of the old elm chairs, and the brasshandles of the chest of drawers.

  "How much longer are you going to fuss about, my good woman?" quothPrince Amede d'Orleans impatiently after a while. "This shuffling roundme irritates my nerves."

  Mistress Martha, however, suffered from deafness. She could see from thequick, angry turn of the head that her lodger was addressing her, butdid not catch his words. She drew a little nearer, bending her ear tohim.

  "Eh? ... what?" she queried in that high-pitched voice peculiar to thedeaf. "I am somewhat hard of hearing just now. I did not hear thee."

  But he pushed her roughly aside with a jerk of his elbow.

  "Go away!" he said impatiently. "Do not worry me!"

  "Ah! the little pigs?" she rejoined blithely. "I thank thee ... they bedoing nicely, thank the Lord ... six of them and ... eh? what? ... I'm abit hard of hearing these times."

  He had some difficulty in keeping up even a semblance of calm. Theplacidity of the old Quakeress irritated him beyond endurance. Hedreaded the return of Adam Lambert from his work, and worse still, hefeared the arrival of Richard. Fortunately he had gathered from Marthathat the young man had come home early in the day in a state of highnervous tension, bordering on acute fever. He had neither eaten nordrunk, but after tidying his clothes and reassuring her as to his futuremovements, he had sallied out into the woods and had not returned sincethen.

  Sir Marmaduke had quickly arrived at the conclusion that Richard Lamberthad seen and spoken to Lady Sue and had learned from her that she wasnow irrevocably married to him, whom she always called her prince.Doubtless, the young man was frenzied with grief, and in his weak stateof health after the terrible happenings of the past few weeks, wouldmayhap, either go raving mad, or end his miserable existence over thecliffs. Either eventuality would suit Sir Marmaduke admirably, and hesighed with satisfaction at the thought that the knot between theheiress and himself was indeed tied sufficiently firm now to ensure herobedience to his will.

  There was to be one more scene in the brief and cruel drama which he haddevised for the hoodwinking and final spoliation of a young andinexperienced girl. She had earlier in the day been placed in possessionof all the negotiable part of her fortune. This, though by no meansrepresenting the whole of her wealth, which also lay in landed estates,was nevertheless of such magnitude that the thought of its possessioncaused every fiber in Sir Marmaduke's body to thrill with the delight ofexpectancy.

  One more brief scene in the drama: the handing over of that vastfortune, by the young girl-wife--blindly and obediently--to the man whomshe believed to be her husband. Once that scene enacted, the curtainwould fall on the love episode 'twixt a romantic and ignorant maid andthe most daring scoundrel that had ever committed crime to obtain afortune.

  In anticipation of that last and magnificent _denouement_, Sir Marmadukehad once more donned the disguise of the exiled Orleans prince: theelaborate clothes, the thick perruque, the black silk shade over theleft eye, which gave him such a sinister expression.

  Now he was literally devoured with the burning desire to see Suearriving with that wallet in her hand, which contained securities andgrants to the value of L500,000. A brief interlude with her, a few wordsof perfunctory affection, a few assurances of good faith, and he--as herprincely husband--would vanish from her ken forever.

  He meant to go abroad immediately--this very night, if possible.Prudence and caution could easily be thrown to the winds, once thenegotiable securities were actually in his hands. What he could convertinto money, he would do immediately, going to Amsterdam first, towithdraw the sum standing at the bank there on deposit, and for whichanon, he would possess the receipt; after that the sale of the grant ofmonopolies should be easy of accomplishment. Sir Marmaduke had boundlessfaith in his own ability to carry through his own business. He mightstand to lose some of the money perhaps; prudence and caution mightnecessitate the relinquishing of certain advantages, but even then hewould be rich and passing rich, and he knew that he ran but little riskof detection. The girl was young, inexperienced and singularlyfriendless: Sir Marmaduke felt convinced that none of the foreigntransactions could ever be directly traced to himself.

  He would be prudent and Europe was wide, and he meant to leave Englishgrants and securities severely alone.

  He had mused and pondered on his plans all day. The evening found himhalf-exhausted with nerve-strain, febrile and almost sick with the agonyof waiting.

  He had calculated that Sue would be free towards seven o'clock, as hehad given Editha strict injunctions to keep discreetly out of the way,whilst at a previous meeting in the park, it had been arranged that theyoung girl should come to the cottage with the money, on the evening ofher twenty-first birthday and there hand her fortune over to herrightful lord.

  Now Sir Marmaduke cursed himself and his folly for having made thisarrangement. He had not known--when he made it--that Richard would beback at Acol then. Adam the smith, never came home before eight o'clockand the old Quakeress herself would not have been much in the way.

  Even now she had shuffled back into her kitchen, leaving her ill-humoredlodger to puff away at the malodorous weed as he chose. But Richardmight return at any moment, and then ...

  Sir Marmaduke had never thought of that possible contingency. IfRichard Lambert came face to face with him, he would of a surety piercethe disguise of the prince, and recognize the man who had so deeplywronged poor, unsuspecting Lady Sue. If only a kindly Fate had kept theyoung man away another twenty-four hours! or better still, if it led thedespairing lover's footsteps to the extremest edge of the cliffs!

  Sir Marmaduke now paced the narrow room up and down in an agony ofimpatience. Nine o'clock had struck long ago, but Sue had not yet come.The wi
ldest imaginings run riot in the schemer's brain: every hour, nay!every minute spent within was fraught with danger. He sought hisbroad-brimmed hat, determined now to meet Sue in the park, to sallyforth at risk of missing her, at risk of her arriving here at thecottage when he was absent, and of her meeting Richard Lambert perhaps,before the irrevocable deed of gift had been accomplished.

  But the suspense was intolerable.

  With a violent oath Sir Marmaduke pressed the hat over his head, andstrode to the door.

  His hand was on the latch, when he heard a faint sound from without: agirl's footsteps, timorous yet swift, along the narrow flagged pathwhich led down the tiny garden gate.

  The next moment he had thrown open the door and Sue stood before him.

  Anyone but a bold and unscrupulous schemer would have been struck by thepathos of the solitary figure which now appeared in the tiny doorway.The penetrating November drizzle had soaked through the dark cloak andhood which now hung heavy and dank round the young girl's shoulders.Framed by the hood, her face appeared preternaturally pale, her lipswere quivering and her eyes, large and dilated, had almost a hunted lookin them.

  Oh! the pity and sadness of it all! For in her small and trembling handsshe was clutching with pathetic tenacity a small, brown wallet whichcontained a fortune worthy of a princess.

  She looked eagerly into her husband's face, dreading the scowl, theoutburst of anger or jealousy mayhap with which of late, alas! he had sooft greeted her arrival. But as was his wont, he stood with his back tothe lighted room, and she could not read the expression of that onecyclops-like eye, which to-night appeared more sinister than everbeneath the thick perruque and broad-brimmed hat.

  "I am sorry to be so late," she said timidly, "the evening repast at theCourt was interminable and Mistress de Chavasse full of gossip."

  "Yes, yes, I know," he replied, "am I not used to seeing that yoursocial duties oft make you forget your husband?"

  "You are unjust, Amede," she rejoined.

  She entered the little parlor and stood beside the table, making nomovement to divest herself of her dripping cloak, or to sit down, norindeed did her husband show the slightest inclination to ask her to doeither. He had closed the door behind her, and followed her to thecenter of the room. Was it by accident or design that as he reached thetable he threw his broad-brimmed hat, down with such an unnecessaryflourish of the arm that he knocked over one of the heavy pewtercandlesticks, so that it rolled down upon the floor, causing the tallowcandle to sputter and die out with a weird and hissing sound?

  Only one dim yellow light now illumined the room, it shone full into thepallid face of the young wife standing some three paces from the table,whilst Prince Amede d'Orleans' face between her and the light, was oncemore in deep shadow.

  "You are unjust," she repeated firmly. "Have I not run the gravestpossible risks for your sake, and those without murmur or complaint, forthe past six months? Did I not compromise my reputation for you bymeeting you alone ... of nights? ..."

  "I was laboring under the idea, my wench, that you were doing all thatbecause you cared for me," he retorted with almost brutal curtness, "andbecause you had the desire to become the Princess d'Orleans; that desireis now gratified and ..."

  He had not really meant to be unkind. There was of a truth no object tobe gained by being brutal to her now. But that wallet, which she held sotightly clutched, acted as an irritant to his nerves. Never of veryequable temperament and holding all women in lofty scorn, he chafedagainst all parleyings with his wife, now that the goal of his ambitionwas so close at hand.

  She winced at the insult, and the tears which she fain would have hiddenfrom him, rose involuntarily to her eyes.

  "Ah!" she sighed, "if you only knew how little I care for that title ofprincess! ... Did you perchance think that I cared? ... Nay! how gladlywould I give up all thought of ever bearing that proud appellation, inexchange for a few more happy illusions such as I possessed three monthsago."

  "Illusions are all very well for a school-girl, my dear Suzanne," heremarked with a cool shrug of his massive shoulders. "Reality should bemore attractive to you now...."

  He looked her up and down, realizing perhaps for the first time that shewas exquisitely beautiful; beautiful always, but more so now in thepathos of her helplessness. Somewhat perfunctorily, because in hisignorance of women he thought that it would please her, and also becausevaguely something human and elemental had suddenly roused his pulses, herelinquished his nonchalant attitude, and came a step nearer to her.

  "You are very beautiful, my Suzanne," he said half-ironically, and withmarked emphasis on the possessive.

  Again he drew nearer, not choosing to note the instinctive stiffening ofher figure, the shrinking look in her eyes. He caught her arm and drewher to him, laughing a low mocking laugh as he did so, for she hadturned her face away from him.

  "Come," he said lightly, "will you not kiss me, my beautiful Suzanne?... my wife, my princess."

  She was silent, impassive, indifferent so he thought, although the armwhich he held trembled within his grip.

  He stretched out his other hand, and taking her chin between hisfingers, he forcibly turned her face towards him. Something in her face,in her attitude, now roused a certain rough passion in him. Mayhap theweary wailing during the day, the agonizing impatience, or the goldenargosy so near to port, had strung up his nerves to fever pitch.

  Irritation against her impassiveness, in such glaring contrast to herglowing ardor of but a few weeks ago, mingled with that essentially maledesire to subdue and to conquer that which is inclined to resist, sentthe blood coursing wildly through his veins.

  "Ah!" he said with a sigh half of desire, half of satisfaction, as helooked into her upturned face, "the chaste blush of the bride is vastlybecoming to you, my Suzanne! ... it acts as fuel to the flames of mylove ... since I can well remember the passionate kisses you gave me sowillingly awhile ago."

  The thought of that happy past, gave her sudden strength. Catching himunawares she wrenched herself free from his hold.

  "This is a mockery, prince," she said with vehemence, and meeting hishalf-mocking glance with one of scorn. "Do you think that I have beenblind these last few weeks? ... Your love for me hath changed, if indeedit ever existed, whilst I ..."

  "Whilst you, my beautiful Suzanne," he rejoined lightly, "are mine ...irrevocably, irretrievably mine ... mine because I love you, and becauseyou are my wife ... and owe me that obedience which you vowed to Heaventhat you would give me.... That is so, is it not?"

  There was a moment's silence in the tiny cottage parlor now, whilsthe--gauging the full value of his words, knowing by instinct that he hadstruck the right cord in that vibrating girlish heart, watched thesubtle change in her face from defiance and wrath to submission andappeal.

  "Yes, Amede," she murmured after a while, "I owe you obedience, honorand love, and you need not fear that I will fail in either. But you,"she added with pathetic anxiety, "you do care for me still? do you not?"

  "Of course I care for you," he remarked, "I worship you.... There! ...will that satisfy you? ... And now?" he added peremptorily, "have youbrought the money?"

  The short interlude of passion was over. His eye had accidentally restedfor one second on the leather wallet, which she still held tightlyclutched, and all thoughts of her beauty, of his power or his desires,had flown out to the winds.

  "Yes," she replied meekly, "it is all here, in the wallet."

  She laid it down upon the table, feeling neither anxiety nor remorse. Hewas her husband and had a right to her fortune, as he had to her personand to her thoughts and heart an he wished. Nor did she care about themoney, as to the value of which she was, of course, ignorant.

  Her wealth, up to now, had only had a meaning for her, as part of somenoble scheme for the regeneration of mankind. Now she hoped vaguely, asshe put that wallet down on the table, then pushed it towards herhusband, that she was purchasing her freedom with her wealth.

&nb
sp; Certainly she realized that his thoughts had very quickly been divertedfrom her beauty to the contents of the wallet. The mocking laugh dieddown on his lips, giving place to a sigh of deep satisfaction.

  "You were very prudent, my dear Suzanne, to place this portion of yourwealth in my charge," he said as he slipped the bulky papers into thelining of his doublet. "Of course it is all yours, and I--yourhusband--am but the repository and guardian of your fortune. And nowmethinks 'twere prudent for you to return to the Court. Sir Marmaduke deChavasse will be missing you...."

  It did not seem to strike her as strange that he should dismiss her thusabruptly, and make no attempt to explain what his future plans mightbe, nor indeed what his intentions were with regard to herself.

  The intensity of her disappointment, the utter loneliness andhelplessness of her position had caused a veritable numbing of herfaculties and of her spirit and for the moment she was perhaps primarilyconscious of a sense of relief at her dismissal.

  Like her wedding in the dismal little church, this day of her birthday,of her independence, of her handing over her fortune to her husband forthe glorious purposes of his selfless schemes had been so very, verydifferent to what she had pictured to herself in her girlish andromantic dreams.

  The sordidness of it all had ruthlessly struck her; for the first timein her intercourse with this man, she doubted the genuineness of hismotives. With the passing of her fortune from her hands to his, the lastvestige of belief in him died down with appalling suddenness.

  It could not have been because of the expression in his eyes, as hefingered the wallet, for this she could not see, since his face wasstill in shadow. It must have been just instinct--that, and the mockeryof his attempt to make love to her. Had he ever loved her, he could nothave mocked ... not now, that she was helpless and entirely at hismercy.

  Love once felt, is sacred to him who feels: mockery even of the ashes oflove is an impossible desecration, one beyond the power of any man.Then, if he had never loved her, why had he pretended? Why have deceivedher with a semblance of passion?

  And the icy whisper of reason blew into her mental ear, the ugly word:"Money."

  He opened the door for her, and without another word, she passed outinto the dark night. Only when she reached the tiny gate at the end ofthe flagged path, did she realize that he was walking with her.

  "I can find my way alone through the woods," she said coldly. "I camealone."

  "It was earlier then," he rejoined blandly, "and I prefer to see yousafely as far as the park."

  And they walked on side by side in silence. Overhead the melancholy dripof moisture falling from leaf to leaf, and from leaf to the ground, wasthe only sound that accompanied their footsteps. Sue shivered beneathher damp cloak; but she walked as far away from him as the width of thewoodland path allowed. He seemed absorbed in his own thoughts and not tonotice how she shrank from the slightest contact with him.

  At the park gate he paused, having opened it for her to pass through.

  "I must bid you good-night here, Suzanne," he said lightly, "there maybe footpads about and I must place your securities away under lock andkey. I may be absent a few days for that purpose.... London, you know,"he added vaguely.

  Then as she made no comment:

  "I will arrange for our next meeting," he said, "anon, there will be nonecessity to keep our marriage a secret, but until I give you permissionto speak of it, 'twere better that you remained silent on that score."

  She contrived to murmur:

  "As you will."

  And presently, as he made no movement towards her, she said:

  "Good-night!"

  This time he had not even desired to kiss her.

  The next moment she had disappeared in the gloom. She fled as fast asshe dared in the inky blackness of this November night. She could haverun for miles, or for hours, away! away from all this sordidness, thisavarice, this deceit and cruelty! Away! away from him!!

  How glad she was that darkness enveloped her, for now she felt horriblyashamed. Instinct, too, is cruel at times! Instinct had been silent solong during the most critical juncture of her own folly. Now it spokeloudly, warningly; now that it was too late.

  Ashamed of her own stupidity and blindness! her vanity mayhap had aloneled her to believe the passionate protestations of a liar.

  A liar! a mean, cowardly schemer, but her husband for all that! She owedhim love, honor and obedience; if he commanded, she must obey; if hecalled she must fain go to him.

  Oh! please God! that she had succeeded in purchasing her freedom fromhim by placing L500,000 in his hands.

  Shame! shame that this should be! that she should have mistaken vileschemes for love, that a liar's kisses should have polluted her soul!that she should be the wife, the bondswoman of a cheat!