To say that I was aghast at the discovery of Lady Blackadder, or, as
she preferred to call herself, Lady Henriette Standish, in Aix, and
with the precious child, would but imperfectly express my feelings.
For the moment I was so utterly taken aback that I could decide upon
no new plan of action. I sat there helplessly staring at the poor
creature, so full of grief and remorse that I was quite unable to rise
to the occasion. I had counted so securely upon tricking Lord
Blackadder into a barren pursuit that my disappointment was
overwhelming and paralyzed my inventiveness.
Only by slow degrees did I evolve certain definite facts and
conclusions. The most essential thing was to get Lord Blackadder away
from Aix. So long as he remained he was an ever present danger; our
game was up directly he awoke to the true state of affairs. He could
appeal now to the police with better result than when claiming my
condign punishment. How was he to be got away? By drawing him after
me. Clearly I must go, and that not alone, but take them with me,
following me under the positive impression that I was leading them
straight to their goal. Not one hint, not the slightest suspicion must
be permitted to reach them that their quarry was here, just under
their feet. Undoubtedly I must adhere to my first plan. When I had
gone on with the others at my heels, the coast would be clear for Lady
Henriette, and she must double back once more and go into safe hiding
somewhere, while the hunt overshot its quarry and rolled on.
So soon as Lady Blackadder recovered from her agitation, I essayed to
win her approval of my plans. But the idea of parting from me now that
she had laid hold of me was so repugnant to her that she yielded once
more to her nerves.
"I beg and implore you, Colonel Annesley, not to leave me again. I
cannot possibly stay here alone. Let me go with you, please, please.
I'll do what you like, disguise myself, go third class, anything; but
for goodness' sake don't desert me, or I don't know what will
happen."
"There is simply no help for it, Lady Henriette. You simply must. It
is imperative that you should remain here at least for a day or two
while the others clear out of your way. It would be quite fatal if
they saw you or you came across them."
"Oh, you're too cruel, it is perfectly inhuman. I shall tell Claire, I
am sure she will take my part. Oh, why isn't she here, why did I let
her leave me? I think I am the most wretched and ill-used woman
alive."
These lamentations and indirect reproaches rather hardened my heart.
The woman was so unreasonable, so little mindful of what was being
done for her, that I lost my patience, and said very stiffly:
"Lady Henriette, let us quite understand one another. Do you want to
keep your child? I tell you candidly there is only one way to save
it."
"My darling Aspdale! Of course I want to keep him. How can you suggest
such a horrid idea? It is not a bit what I expected from you. Claire
told me--never mind what; but please understand that I will never give
my baby up."
I was nettled by her perverseness, and although I tried hard to
school myself to patience, it was exceedingly difficult.
"Indeed, Lady Henriette, I have no desire to separate you from your
child, nor would I counsel you under any circumstances to give it up.
But quite certainly while you are here in Aix you are in imminent
danger of losing it. You ought never to have kept it--it was madness
to come here and run straight into the jaws of danger."
"How was I to know?" she retorted, now quite angrily. "I really think
it is too bad of you to reproach me. You are most unkind."
"Dear, dear," I said fretfully, "this is all beside the question. What
is most urgent is to shield and save you now when the peril is most
pressing."
"And yet you propose to leave me to fight it out alone? Is that
reasonable? Is it generous, chivalrous, to desert a poor woman in her
extremity?"
"I protest, you must not put it like that. I have explained the
necessity. Surely you must see that it would be madness, quite fatal
for us, to be seen together, or for you to be seen at all. I must
still hoodwink them by going off this afternoon."
"And leave me without protection, with all I have at stake? If only
Claire was here."
"It wouldn't mend matters much, except that Lady Claire would side
with me."
"Oh, yes, you say that, you believe she thinks so much of you and your
opinion that she would agree to anything you suggest."
"Mine is the safest and the only course," I replied, I am afraid with
some heat. "You must, you shall take it."
"Upon my word, Colonel Annesley, you speak to me as if I were a
private soldier. Be good enough to remember that I am not under your
orders. I claim to decide for myself how I shall act."
She was no longer piteous or beseeching; her tears had dried, a flush
of colour had risen to her cheeks, and it was evident that her despair
had given place to very distinct temper.
I was in a rage myself, and sprang to my feet with a sharp exclamation
of disgust.
"Really, Lady Henriette, you will drive me to wash my hands of the
whole business. But I came into it to oblige your sister, and I owe it
to her to do my best without reference to you. I have marked out a
line for myself, and I shall follow it. Unless you are disposed to
change your views, I shall stick to mine; and I do not see the use of
prolonging this interview. I will bid you good day."
I moved towards the door, still keeping an eye on her, believing her
to be quite set in her fatuous refusal to hear reason. She still held
herself erect and defiant, and there seemed to be small hope of doing
anything with her. Then suddenly I saw symptoms of giving way. Signals
of distress were hung out in her quivering lip and the nervous
twitching of her hands. All at once she broke down and cried
passionately:
"No, no, no; you must not leave me--not like that. I cannot bear it; I
am too miserable, too agitated, too terrified. I have no one to lean
on but you. What shall I do? What shall I do?" And she collapsed into
a chair, weeping as if her heart would break.
The situation was awkward, embarrassing. At another time I might have
been puzzled how to deal with it, but this was a moment of supreme
emergency. A great crisis was imminent, the ruin of our scheme and the
downfall of our hopes were certainly at hand if I gave way to her.
Everything depended upon my action, and I knew that the only chance
of safety lay in the execution of my design.
This being so, her tears made no great impression on me. I may be
called a hard-hearted brute, but I really had no great sympathy with
her in her lamentations. It was not an occasion for tears, I felt; and
I must be firm and unwavering, whatever she might think of me. I
counted, at any rate, and with some assurance, on the approval of Lady
Claire if the details of this painful scene should ever come to her
ears.
Nor could I wait till she chose to regain her composure. Time was too
precious to be wasted in any attempts to win her back to common sense,
and without waiting for permission I crossed the room, rang the bell,
and begged the waiter to summon the lady's maid. She was a strongly
built, matter-of-fact French woman, probably not easily disturbed; but
she glanced apprehensively at her mistress, and turned a suspicious
look on me.
"You had better see to your lady," I said sharply. "She has an attack
of nerves. I've no doubt it will soon pass, but I'm afraid I have
imparted some distressing news. Be good enough to tell her when she
recovers that I shall come back in half an hour, when I trust she
will be ready to accompany me."
"What is this?" broke in Lady Henriette, suddenly interposing and
evidently roused to deep interest in my words. "Accompany you? Where,
I should like to know?"
"Is that of much consequence? You have entreated me not to leave you.
Well, we shall not part; I propose to take you away with me. Do you
object? It was your own wish."
"I retract that. I will not go with you; certainly not in the dark.
You must tell me first where you think of going, what you mean to do.
Is it likely that I should trust myself alone with an almost complete
stranger--a man who has shown me so little consideration, who has been
so unkind, so cruel, and who now wants to carry me off goodness knows
where, because he is so _obstinately determined_ that his is the right
way to proceed."
"Lady Henriette," I said civilly but very coldly, and putting the drag
on myself, for I confess she was trying me very hard, "let there be no
misunderstanding between us. Either you consent to my proposals
absolutely and unhesitatingly, or I shall withdraw altogether from
your service. I have felt that I had a duty to Lady Claire, and I
have been honestly anxious to discharge it, but by your present
attitude I feel myself absolved from that duty. I am not unwilling to
accept responsibility, but only if I am allowed to act as I please."
"Oh, how like a man! Of course you must have your own way, and every
one else must give in to you," she cried with aggravating emphasis,
giving me no credit for trying to choose the wisest course.
"I know I'm right," I urged, a little feebly perhaps, for I was nearly
worn out by her prejudice and utterly illogical refusal to see how the
land lay. But I quickly recovered myself, and said quite peremptorily,
"You shall have half an hour to make up your mind, not a minute more,
Lady Henriette. You shall give me my answer when I return. I warn you
that I shall bring a carriage in half an hour, and I strongly advise
you to be ready to start with me. Have everything packed, please, and
the bill paid. I will take no denial, remember that."