A FLAMING SWORD
Mary dragged herself as far as the library. Sir George was pacing up
and down the room, trying to soothe his nerves with a cigar.
"What a time you have been!" he said impatiently. "Why did you not
return before, knowing how anxious I should be? Mayfield came for a
telegram form, so I presume he has made matters right with you? Did
Walters take it?"
"So far as I know, Walters has gone back to bed," Mary explained. "The
telegram was not sent, for reasons best known to Mr. Mayfield. There
is no occasion to be angry. It was no fault of mine--and has nothing
to do with me. Mr. Mayfield suggested that I should have another night
to think it over. It is not his code of honour----"
"Code of honour! The fellow hasn't got one! There is no trusting him!
And now everybody will know of this disgrace of ours."
"They won't. Mr. Mayfield has arranged all that. He seems to be clever
at this kind of thing. But perhaps I had better explain."
The anger and irritation died out of Sir George's face as he listened.
He expressed no feeling of disgust or abhorrence at the trick to be
played upon his household; on the contrary, a suppressed chuckle broke
from him, a chuckle instantly smothered as he noticed the white scorn
on Mary's face.
"I beg your pardon, my dear. Of course, it is all very wrong, but in
the circumstances, what else could we do? I have not the slightest
doubt that Mayfield will make it all right tomorrow. And now we must
go to bed."
Mary turned aside and went wearily in the direction of the hall.
Usually, she gave her father a warm and dutiful kiss before retiring,
but she really felt that she could not do so tonight. She had always
freely expressed her contempt for tears as a woman's weapon and as a
solace in the hour of trouble. But the tears rose to her eyes now as
she thought of her father and the sorry part he had played. It seemed
almost incredible that the head of the house of Dashwood could act so
meanly.
And she herself! How much better was she behaving in the hour of
trial? The girl's face flamed as she thought of it. In her heart of
hearts she knew that the proper thing would have been to face the
matter and see it out to the end. Yet her pride had impelled her to
make an appalling sacrifice to silence tongues that did not matter in
the least. What would Ralph Darnley have thought of it all had he
known? How strange that Ralph should come into Mary's mind now, she
told herself, strange that she should revert to him when danger
threatened.
"You need not wait on me tonight, Kelly," Mary told her maid. "It is
so very late and I want to be alone. Have you been asleep in my chair
all this time?"
The pretty little maid admitted that she had. She went her way
presently and Mary began slowly to undress. But tired as she was she
felt that somehow sleep tonight could not be for her. Usually, she
dropped off directly her head touched the pillow; the silence of the
old house was very soothing. But not tonight, for the place seemed
full of weird noises, the noises that the invalid hears when pain
prevents slumber. Mary lay there, but she could not sleep. It seemed
to her that somebody was moving about the corridor. Surely she heard a
footstep, and something like the scratch of a match.
Mary rose and slipped on a dressing-gown. Candle in hand, she opened
the door. And, surely enough, she was not mistaken. A dark figure was
there, a figure that muttered and crooned, as if seeking something.
Mary approached the intruder.
"Patience!" she exclaimed, "what are you doing here? And how did you
get into the house? I thought that you had returned to the dower house
with her ladyship."
Patience looked up and smiled in a weak, watery kind of way. She was
not in the least afraid, and there was just a suggestion of slyness in
her aged, faded eyes.
"I forgot something, my dearie," she said. "There was something that I
made up my mind to do and then I forgot clean about it. It was one of
my good nights, and my head was as clear as yours. Her ladyship told
me everything. But she didn't tell you everything because she dared
not. Ay, we are two sinful old women for certain."
"Never mind about that," Mary said soothingly, "I daresay it will all
come right in the morning. But you should not have come here like
this. You had better lie down on the couch in my dressing-room and go
to sleep."
"But there was something that I wanted to do," the old woman whined.
"I thought of a way of saving you, of saving everybody. And then it
clean went out of my head."
Patience wrung her hands and the tears stood in her faded eyes. She
appeared to be deeply distressed about something. She stopped
suddenly, and stood alert and listening.
"Did you hear that?" she demanded. "They are in the kitchen. All three
of them together! I saw them just now, but they did not see me. They
were laughing together, and one of them had gold, which he was
dividing with the rest. And they have come here to bring disgrace on
this noble house. And there was I standing close by with a way to get
rid of them in my head. . . . There was something that I wanted, and I
couldn't find it. So I came to look, and I forget what it was. Such a
beautiful plan, too, so very simple and yet perfect. My dearie, can't
you help me to think what it was? If you can only help me we shall get
rid of these men, and the trouble and disgrace will vanish, never to
return. It isn't often that I get a good idea in this poor head of
mine, and to forget it like that is cruel, cruel!"
Patience wept a little, and began to wring her hands again. Mary's old
nurse had been in this state now for some years, though there were
times, for longer or shorter periods, when she was in possession of
all her faculties. She was not in the least dangerous; as a privileged
old servant she had been allowed to wander from one house to the other
at her pleasure. But Mary had never seen her so wild and excited
before, and the thing troubled her.
"What do you know of our trouble?" she asked.
"Her ladyship told me. It was something to do with some money that Sir
George owed to Mr. Mayfield, and which those men had come to get. And
her ladyship could not help you, for Mr. Vincent has made her sell all
her jewels already."
Mary fairly started. Was it possible that she was on the track of
another family trouble, some new and black disgrace of which she had
hitherto known nothing? It seemed hardly fair to take advantage of a
weak-minded old woman in this, and yet--
"Who is this Mr. Vincent that you speak of?" Mary asked.
"Her ladyship told me. It was something to do with some money that Sir
George owed to Mr. Mayfield, and which those men had come to get. And
her ladyship could not help you, for Mr. Vincent has made her sell all
her jewels already."
Mary fairly started. Was it possible that she was on the track of
another family trouble, some new and black disgrace of which she had
hitherto known nothing? It seemed hardly fair to take advantage of a
weak-minded old woman in this, and yet--
"Who is this Mr. Vincent that you speak of?" Mary asked.
"Mr. Vincent--that is all I can tell you. He is young and handsome,
and yet so wicked and unscrupulous. And it is to prevent him from
speaking out that my lady has sold all her jewels. They are not hers
to sell, but they have been disposed of all the same. I really do know
who Mr. Vincent is, and why he has such a hold over her ladyship, but
something gets in the way of my brain and I can't think what I ought
to say. And I'm so tired."
The old woman suddenly dropped into a chair and began to whine like a
child that has walked too far. Mary was accustomed to these sudden
changes and knew how to humour them. She fairly lifted the old woman
from her seat and led her to the dressing-room. Obedient as a child
now, Patience lay down and closed her eyes. A moment later and she had
fallen into a placid sleep. Mary regarded her with eyes of envy.
"After all she is better off than I am," she murmured, "and her
troubles are nearly over. What a blessing it is to be able to sleep
when you want to! And here am I on the brink of a fresh and darker
mystery than my own! I begin to understand now why Lady Dashwood looks
so haggard and worried. And what does this Vincent know, who can
blackmail my poor old second mother in this way! All the family
jewels, over £30,000. Oh, how sad it is to be almost without a friend
in the world! And yet Ralph Darnley promised me----"
The colour rose to Mary's face as she pronounced Ralph's name. It was
the one reflection that sweetened her thoughts as she lay on her bed
waiting for the sleep that would not come. She turned from side to
side; she could see by the saffron gleam on the blind that the summer
dawn was close at hand.
Then at last she fell off into a kind of fitful slumber that was a
mass of confused and hideous dreams. She was in some vague, indefinite
kind of trouble, tangled up with a scheme of Mayfield's, and across a
yawning gulf Ralph Darnley was holding out his hands to save her. And
then it seemed to her that Ralph kissed her, and that she did not in
the least mind it. After that they drifted apart again, and once more
the baleful influence of Mayfield was uppermost. They were falling
together down a deep pit with flames at the bottom; the fumes were so
great that Mary could not breathe.
She woke up with a gasp and a cry, struggling for breath. The whole
thing had been so vivid that Mary could not realise for a moment that
she was sitting up in bed. Yet there she was, with the early morning
sun shining through the blinds, and still she held her hand to her
throat and fought for the breath that would not come.
Surely there must be something wrong here! Why was the room so
insufferable, where did that stifling air come from? Then a draught of
air came from somewhere, and the bedroom was almost instantly filled
with a maze of thin smoke and vapour. There was no longer room for
doubt. With a quick cry Mary sprang from her bed, for the Hall was on
fire!