A DESPERATE SHIFT.
In the meantime Lord Armitage had been sitting on one of the two
stools in the Mouse's Nest. That retreat was quite too dark for him
to see his hand before his face, except precisely in the corner where
he was resting. Into this the high opening in the wall, alluded to,
seemed to filter a gray gleam.
The young refugee realized that his present insecurity was great; but
he had been in deeper danger before it, and that self-control which
had rather disconcerted Andrew during that moment they had been
standing at the stair-top was not much assumed.
"Bless the boy!" he muttered; "it is something to have won such a
stout young heart! Ah, if ever I get away from this accursed land,
where death dogs my footsteps to trip me up, Andrew, you shall not be
forgotten, depend upon it. But, gadzooks! it looks now very little
like my conferring care or honor upon any man, young or old!"
He rose and peered curiously up at the aperture in the blank, black
wall, with his hands clasped behind his back.
"A strong draught from that, I note. I wonder with what it communicates?
Some sort of an air shaft probably. Faugh, what a den is this! A
day or so within it would go far to bring a gay fellow like me to
suicide--provided he could lay hand on aught here to take himself away
with. When can Andrew get back here to bring me word of the prisoner
below? Would to God I knew! My mind misgives me. If it be from them,
after all--! Still, still, there are so many of our gallant fellows
hiding in thickets and caves. If it _were_ Cameron or Lochiel it would
break my heart. That peasant-woman last week told me that she had
given shelter to a gentleman of the Prince's army only the day before!
Oh, Andrew, Andrew, my lad! make haste, for I am in worse dread for
others than for myself until you ease me."
He went softly--though there was no need, for the floor was stone and
only the under-arching thickness of the partition was below--down the
length of the Nest in the darkness, feeling his way along the wall
until he perceived that he stood alongside the sliding panel. A
narrow, almost undistinguishable crevice marked it out. He put his
ear to this, as he had done a score of times since his entrance; but
he could not catch the slightest sound, so impervious and exactly
adjusted was the barrier.
"I cannot stand it!" he ejaculated, feeling for the iron lever, a
simple turn of which, followed by a prolonged and equable pressure,
would slide back the panel. "It is a risk. Andrew is right. Any one of
those miscreants may take it into his head to go prowling about the
halls or chambers while the rest are at supper. But I _must_ get some
inkling of what is going on in that dining-parlor! Andrew may be on
his way to me, too."
He moved the lever. A slight tremor--a widening of the crevice--in an
instant he perceived that the massive jamb had retreated.
All was dark. He thrust forth his arm and touched the under-side of
the thick hangings along the wall of the Purple Chamber. Then he
slipped out beneath their folds, like a cat, and stood again in the
great room itself--alone. Apparently no one, friendly or hostile, was
on that second story as yet. Tiptoe he ventured toward the closed
door, the outline of which he could trace.
But he caught his breath as he came to it and set it ajar with
trembling caution. He had stolen forth from the Nest exactly as the
bustle below, the voices, laughter, and singing culminated in the
audacious demand by Captain Jermain that the mysterious secret-chamber
be laid open for the diversion of himself and his companions. Boyd's
protests he could not hear--nor see the scene at the table--nor guess
how it had come about. He heard only the pushing aside of the chairs,
the drunken march into the broad hall, the hoarse--
"King George, God bless him forever!
And down with the _White Cockades!_"
the reiterated cry: "Above-stairs, all of us! huzzah!"
The tone in which that drinking song was sung, those words uttered,
assured him that it was not betrayal, but some new train of concurrent
circumstances, that was bringing about a startling move. He dared
not lock the door. He leaped back, stumbled headlong toward the
chimney-piece, tossed aside the arras and threw himself within the
Mouse's Nest, with the pant of a hunted stag. To seize the lever
was the gesture of a half-second. He could bolt the panel to all
outsiders as soon as it shut. Excitement guided his hand truly in the
dark. He pushed and pressed. The panel slid obediently back toward its
deceptive resting-place. In doing so it creaked slightly--an ominous
occurrence that had not accompanied its previous passage. He tugged
harder at the lever as, with the creak, something seemed to resist his
hand.
Up the stairway was coming the tramp of the soldiers and the two
Boyds. He could overhear more merriment. He pushed with all his might.
It was useless labor. Within some three inches of closure, for its
bolting, the mechanism operating from the within-side of the panel
suddenly had refused to act. Everything stood still--perfectly,
terribly still. A wide black crack must inevitably be visible to any
person who should draw aside the arras of the chamber wall!
"I am lost if the villains have lighted on the secret of the Nest!"
the endangered nobleman exclaimed, in sudden realization and despair.
"Oh why, why did I not bethink me that I might not be able to close
it--through some weakness of the old apparatus? The chase is up!"
The next moment the shine of candles below the folds of the arras--the
loud banter and laughter of Jermain--broken sentences from Boyd--came
all within a few yards' length, as the quintet stood within the Purple
Chamber.
The young man crouched down. His teeth were set to meet the extreme of
his peril. The perspiration oozed from his forehead.
"Once for all, gentlemen," came the angry tones of Gilbert Boyd, amid
the scuffling of feet, "I swear to you that no hand but mine shall
ever, with my consent, disclose this secret place, however near it may
lie to us--and, as I live, it shall not be so disclosed this night!"
"Oh, but it must be, and shall be!" retorted Jermain, more delighted
than ever at prolonging and enjoying the old Master's concern; "away
with your silly family pride, Boyd! You have too much sense for it."
"We'll never tell, Boyd," said Dawkin; "will we, Roxley? Oh, 'tis rare
sport!"
"Never," assented Roxley; "hold up the candles, Andrew, that we may
all guess at the very spot."
"Beware, gentlemen, how you tempt my patience further! Surely, you
see that I am past the humor for such folly! Leave the room with me,
Captain Jermain! I command it--I adjure you all, by the laws of
hospitality and courtesy----"
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the three tormentors. Had they been less
influenced by the excellent cheer at the table just quitted, one or
all of them must have by this suspected a deeper motive for Boyd's
recusancy. But, as it was, it all was taken with the other details of
the scene--an obstinate and proud Scotch householder, unwilling to
share a petty secret with some gay guests.
"And I--I adjure you," mimicked Jermain, "by the laws of hospitality
and courtesy, not to cross my pleasure so peevishly. Ay, there is the
chimney! Lockett particularized the chimney. Behind the corner of the
arras, just about where that figure of the Prodigal Son is worked,
must lie the plate set in the angle of the stone----"
Lord Armitage stiffened his muscles. "If I had only caught up one of
those stools yonder, the battle should begin from _my_ side!" he
grimly reflected. "Stay--I must not give them one extra inch of
vantage. I will creep into yonder farthest corner--lay hand on a
stool, crouch--and wait for them!"
"Oh, merciful God!" thought, or rather prayed Andrew, on the other
side, clutching the candles and white as one who swoons. "Does he
hear? What can he do? Save him, save him, O Lord--for only thou canst
preserve him or us now."
Dawkin made for the chimney-jamb, exclaiming: "Come, I'll draw back
the Prodigal from his husks!"
Before he could reach it, Gilbert, desperate, careless of any further
pacific measures, seeing in mind nothing but imminent bloodshed,
leaped between him and the chimney. Indignation had altered the very
fashion of his countenance.
"Hear me, sirs, for the last time!" he cried; "by the God of my
fathers, who hath preserved me and mine within this house until
these hairs are white, not one step further into its secrets or
secret chambers shall you take, nor dare any longer to indulge this
unsoldierly curiosity and insolence! I mean what I say. No, I will
give no reasons except what I have given, what common decency might
prompt to you. This impudent business stops at once. Take away your
hand, sir! Put down your arm, fellow! Call it over-respect to my
family and its trusts, or call it what you may, I swear that I will
strike down the man who sets a finger upon this arras! Must I call up
my servants to protect us from you?" [Four or five of these last were
already waiting wherever a man could lurk in the hall or adjoining
rooms, trembling for their master's safety, and only restrained by
Neil from running into the Purple Chamber to chastise the insolent
troopers.]
Half-intoxicated though he was, this vehement speech and the gestures
accompanying it were enough to change the mood of Captain Jermain to
irritation. He turned red, gave a short, hard laugh of contempt, and
uttered an oath--with which he darted forward to seize the arras. He
slipped, laughing triumphantly, beneath Boyd's extended arm. He
clutched the tapestry with a violent pull. The rusty nails above
yielded. Down fell the Prodigal and his Swine, partly overturning both
disputants. A cloud of dust rose; and, as it cleared away, a cry of
surprise broke from the lips of all the group. There, exposed to full
sight, rose the broad crack! The panel was unmistakable, because
partially open! "O Almighty Protector!" thought Gilbert, a thrill of
hope entering his heart, "he overheard--he had time to escape from
it."
"Yes, he has escaped--he has escaped!" ejaculated Andrew to himself;
"not yet in their power, not yet!"
"Open?" cried Jermain. "Yes, by the sword of Claverhouse, it is open!
The easier for us to take our look at it, but a bad sign for its
safety as a prison to-night. Let's see--will the doorway widen if we
push at the old panel."
There was no sound from the cell. Captain Jermain approached the
opening. Boyd could make no further resistance--he wondered whether
he might not have undone the success of some defence on his guest's
part, as it was; for as Roxley and Dawkin stepped toward the wall
Gilbert gave a sigh of exhaustion, and then sank back upon an
arm-chair in a half-faint.
Mistress Annan darted into the room unobtrusively, but looking like
an elderly Scotch ghost in cap and spectacles, and began chafing her
master's cold hands. Andrew would see it out to the end. "If he be
there, and if they seize him, I will strike one of them down for him,"
thought the lad. The end, the end was at hand--life or death in it!
"Works like a charm!" cried Jermain, now quite forgetting his fit of
passion in the indulgence of curiosity. "There, we can pass! Ugh!
What a stinking hole!" The lever, to outside persuasion, offered no
reluctance to move. The door, truly, was wide open. Blackness of
darkness--a rush of chill, malodorous wind. But no outrushing or
defiant figure!
"Give me one candle, boy," said Jermain--"hold the other before us.
So. Watch well your feet, lads. These odd nooks often have holes and
traps in their floors." With these words he stepped inside the Nest.
Face the worst, within that pit of gloom, Andrew must. But he
contrived, in obeying the command to accompany the three, audaciously
to stumble against the captain on the very sill. The latter's taper
was thereby cleverly dashed from the candlestick. It rolled to some
dusty nook quite beyond their feet.
"Awkward lout!" exclaimed Jermain; "but never mind; one candle shall
serve."
Making even it waver as much as he could (a process very easy in the
state of his nerves) they advanced well within the Nest, Jermain and
the others more awed each step by the dismalness of the retreat, but
all talking loudly. No Lord Armitage at bay, desperate, yet faced
them. And they moved on--on--now to the very end of the narrow
apartment, where were placed the mothy stag-skins and the two stools.
Everything seemed undisturbed, as if during the lapse of decades.
"Well, 'tis a dull discovery after all, so far, I admit," said
Jermain, peering now to the right, now to the left, or glancing
toward the cornice, all a black void some twenty-five feet overhead,
in such wretched illumination. "Not worth while to have so hot a
question with--ha, ha--friend Boyd, over it! Yes, here we are at its
end, I declare. Nothing beyond this dead wall, of course. Look,
Roxley, how rough the courses are--how strong."
"There seems to be a glim of light somewhere there," Dawkin remarked,
pointing up to the square aperture previously mentioned. "But 'tis a
vile den for any poor wretch to be shut into. Plenty snug enough for
that Highland dog, though."
"Ay," replied Jermain, frowning, "provided it be secure. Let's back to
look. Steady--beware of this uncertain floor. Dawkin, thou wilt need
all Andrew's candle-light for thine own share, thanks to the last two
glasses I filled thee."
Could it be possible? Andrew was dumb with gratitude. For he realized
that, tired of their own rudeness and curiosity, Jermain, Roxley, and
Dawkin were retracing their steps to the open panel, and that for all
the harm that had been done him by Jermain's acquaintance with the
place of his concealment and this visit to it, Lord Geoffry Armitage
might as well have been a thousand miles away!
But far more inexplicable was the mystery than he divined; until, on
the heels of Dawkin and the other two, he was crossing the threshold.
He saw his father standing a few paces outside, himself unable to
solve the riddle, but full of thankfulness for that which he felt was
the veritable overruling of God's power. He saw Captain Jermain offer
his hand with a stammered apology. He heard Roxley call to him, "Come
forth, youngster, we must shut up this panel and try what kind of a
lock it hath upon it, and then back to the merry board, my friends.
Halloa, look, look you at this, Captain. Here, Boyd, don't bear
malice, man, but give us your counsel a moment."
And then--and then--just as Andrew hastened to obey Roxley, a
voice spoke his name: "Andrew--Andrew." That was all; uttered in a
startling, almost magical, whisper. It came from somewhere over his
head, like speech evoked from the dense shadow itself.
He had presence of mind not to exclaim or start. He dared not stand
still there. With difficulty Roxley and the young captain closed
the panel once more. Like one in a dream he heard them exclaim in
disappointment and surprise on discovering that there was absolutely
no way of securing the door on the outside, and thus rendering it fit
for the special use desired. Still like one in a dream the boy watched
them, already wearied of their whim, force the panel back and forth in
its grooves, and with more boisterous raillery declare the place no
more a prison than a parlor. He heard Roxley ask his father to exhibit
to them the strong room in the East Wing, of which he had spoken, and
Captain Jermain interpose, laughing, "Oh, later, later, Roxley. One
dungeon is surely enough until we have forgot our quarrel over it in
a fresh glass together! Let the strong-room in the East Wing wait
an hour." And next he and they were all descending the staircase
together, the ordeal over, and he on fire to be rushing back to the
Purple Chamber! For he understood it all now.
* * * * *
At the moment in which Lord Armitage partially rose to make his way
toward the sole weapon of defence at hand--one of the three-legged
stools--an inspiration came to him. He recollected the void above him;
the uncertainty of candle-light--the inaccuracy of eyes dulled with
wine. He drew off, in the twinkling of an eye, the brogues Gilbert
Boyd had loaned him. Holding these between his teeth, he stepped a
yard or so beyond the panel, so dangerously ajar for the success of
the daring plan he had suddenly devised. He thrust his feet into the
crevices of the rude masonry, searching noiselessly with fingers and
toes for the numberless rough projections. In a few seconds he had
readily gained a height of eight or ten feet. Clinging to the stones,
he raised his hand to feel for some further coign of vantage. His hand
struck an object that he had little suspected, but instantly bethought
him was almost certain to be there, discoverable in any room so
constructed in such a house--a strong iron brace traversing the Nest
at a height considerably above the low entrance and running from wall
to wall. He laid hold of it. Would it break? He had no time to test
it. He took his fate in his hands.
With rigid muscles, and jaws aching from the strain of holding the
shoes, he drew himself up, got astride of it, and at last stood with
both feet upon it!
It was rusted, but it did not even bend. He balanced himself. Before
climbing he had knotted the latchets of the brogues together; he now
hung them across the bar, close to the black wall. So far so good!
Again must he attempt the dangerous, but far from impracticable, feat,
that he began to feel convinced was his succor. Could those outside
hear him as he climbed? No--it would seem not. He could have cried
aloud for joy as he felt, at arm's length above his head, a second
iron brace, evidently another essential in the support of the wall, to
which he clove like a human fly. To this second aid he pulled himself
up, and stood upright on it, with palms pressing the stones. At that
height, perhaps twenty feet from the floor he could, he dared hope,
defy the candle-light the intruders might introduce. It proved that he
could. Motionless, afraid to breathe, he presently saw their entrance,
and blessed Andrew for the additional security the fallen candle
brought about; and it was from up there, exhausted but safe from
capture, if not death, that he marked the troopers' departure from
beneath his very feet. Then was it that, wishing to enlighten Andrew
as to his resource and its merciful success, he ventured to send down
to the boy's quick ears that repeated name--"Andrew--Andrew."*
*The escape of Lord Geoffry Armitage has its foundation in the
experience of a Jacobite refugee, of inferior extraction, who
participated in the Insurrection of 1715.