"Now!" exclaimed Richard Pellet, as soon as he and his unwelcome visitor
were in the cab, "will you wait patiently, if I take you somewhere, till
I can place you where you will see your little one?"
She gazed long and earnestly in his face before answering.
"Will you keep your word?"
"I will!" he said, and she bent her head, when, lowering the front
window, Richard gave fresh instructions to the driver, who drew up at
the end of a long busy street.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, suddenly.
"Only where you can stay for a day or two," said he, preparing to get
out. "Sit still for a few minutes till I come back."
"But you are going to leave me," she cried, clinging to his arm.
"I tell you I will come back," he exclaimed, angrily; and, apparently
satisfied, she sank back in her seat.
Five--ten minutes elapsed, but the occupant of the cab did not stir. At
the end of another five minutes, Richard returned, panting and out of
breath, spoke to the driver again, and once more the cab jangled over
the stones and drew up at a half-open door.
Richard sprang up and took tight hold of his companion's arm, but she
followed him with alacrity, only starting back as the street-door closed
behind her, when she found herself in the presence of Mrs Walls and in
her old gaol.
Richard turned to leave, but the cheated woman turned with him, clinging
to him tightly, and imploring him not to leave her there in the most
piteous manner. He tried to shake her off; he swung her to and fro; he
loosened one hand, but only for the other to cling to him more tightly,
till, enraged by her persistence, and unable to govern the vile passions
that she had roused, he struck her heavily with his clenched fist, so
that she fell back half stunned and with a thin stream of blood flowing
from her lip.
"Why, you great brute--you cowardly ruffian!" exclaimed Mrs Walls, who
had some feeling of compassion yet for the suffering member of her sex.
"That wasn't bargained for."
"Hold your tongue!" cried Richard, fiercely. "Keep to your engagement,
and let her loose this time, and you shall suffer for it, even if I do
myself. There is law, recollect, for such as you."
"I'd suffer it for two pins, so as you should be pulled down too,"
muttered the woman, as she wiped the blood from the prisoner's lips, and
then with a scowl Richard turned to go.
"I shall be back in three days at the latest," he said. Then he paid
and dismissed the cabman, walked hastily through a few streets, and then
took another cab and drove off.
"Gone!" exclaimed Ellen Pellet, opening her eyes to gaze about her in an
anxious manner as she tried to make for the door.
Mrs Walls nodded, and then half led, half pushed her into a back
parlour.
"He'll be back in two days, and then you're going away from here, and
for good, and I'm glad of it," said the woman, not unkindly, considering
that but a day since her prisoner had contrived to escape. "I don't
want you here any more."
"To take me to her?"
"To be sure," said Mrs Walls, as she would have spoken to a child. The
next minute the door was closed, and the key turned upon the prisoner,
who sank down upon a chair, and pressed her hands in a bewildered way to
her forehead.
She sat without moving for an hour, and then began to pace round and
round the room to find, after trying door and window, that the former
was fast and the latter only slid down a few inches at the top, the
bottom being of ground-glass, and preventing a view of the outer world
unless the occupant of the room stood upon a chair; and even then only
the backs of houses and a blackened wall or two were to be seen.
Escape now seemed to be the sole idea in the poor creature's mind. She
recalled in a darkened way a long period of imprisonment, and evidently
dreaded its recurrence, for again and again she tried the door, shaking
it gently, but it was locked, though the key remained in, so that she
could touch the end as it projected about the sixteenth of an inch
through the keyhole.
Another hour passed, and another, of torture and dread of treachery.
Could she not get away to her little one? That was the great thought
which crushed all others; and as if determining to escape, she began to
try with her nails to turn the key, repeating her efforts till the wards
hung downward. Then, by means of a wooden splint, one of a dozen upon
the chimney-piece, she thrust the key nearly out of the keyhole, where
it hung while she listened attentively, then, with one more gentle push,
it fell rattling down upon the oilcloth of the passage.
She stood listening, her bosom heaving painfully, but no steps followed
the noise--it was evidently not heard, and, sinking upon her knees, she
tore up the edge of the tacked-down carpet, till she could pass her worn
and bony fingers beneath, and drag it away from the door, leaving the
bottom exposed.
There, beneath the door, was the key plainly to be seen, for the light
from a staircase window fell upon it; but it was out of reach, and the
aperture would not allow the passage of her fingers. She knelt there
though, biting her nails for a minute and listening, before taking up
the splint that before had been her friend.
She tried to reach the key, passing the splint beneath the door, but it
was not long enough. She took another--sane enough now in her desire to
escape--and tearing a strip from her handkerchief, bound two splints
tightly together, and tried again.
Yes; they would pass under easily, and she could touch the key and move
it. She could hear it glide along the oilcloth for some distance in one
direction; so she tried from the other side, and moved it back.
Forwards and backwards she moved that key a score of times,
indefatigable in her efforts; but it would come no nearer, for there was
an inequality over which it would not pass--the floorcloth at that spot
was doubled.
Suddenly she stopped, for she heard steps upon the stairs, and Mrs Walls
came by, her dress brushing against the key and slightly altering its
position. Then once more all was silent; she had passed by without
noticing that it was out of the door, and nothing was heard but the
faint sound of the traffic in the street.
The splints again at work--this way, that way, but no sound of grating
key upon the oilcloth, and after many trials, the prisoner laid her head
upon the floor, and tried to catch sight of the object of her search.
There it was: just the ring visible, but beyond the reach of the
splints, for it had been swept along a few inches by the dress. But
three splints might do it: so another was tied to the others, and once
more the trial was made.
Joy! They touched the key; but they bent and would hardly stir it from
the weakness of the wood.
What should she do? How could she get out? Why did she allow herself
to be trapped when it seemed to her troubled brain that her little one
was calling! But if she stayed, would he let her see her child? Had
not he said--had not the tailor said--it was dead. It was a lie--a
cruel lie--it could not be dead. They had hidden it away from her where
she was never to see it more.
With these thoughts exciting the crushed and patient sufferer, she paced
round and round the room, to pause, at last, to tear at the screws that
held the lock to her prison door, and only to leave off with bleeding
fingers.
A new thought, and she darted to the window, tore down the red worsted
blind-cord, and ran back to the door. Down upon her knees with the
stiff cord doubled, and a great loop thrust gently under to try and draw
the key towards her.
Now it caught, drew it a little way, let it slip, and came through
alone; now it thrust it back when the cord was again pushed through.
Another trial, and the cord caught, the key grating over the oilcloth,
but only to be checked once more by the double fold and lost.
Disappointment upon disappointment, and a great dread upon her mind that
her gaoler would return, find out her attempt to escape, and defeat it
by bearing away the key.
Another trial, and another, and another, and once more the key caught
against that double in the oilcloth; but now a vigorous snatch and it
had fallen over it and close to the door, and though the cord came
through without, she could now plainly see the wards of the key--touch
them with one of the splints--draw them towards her--touch them with a
finger--hold the key in her hand--and be at liberty once more.
Her heart beat with excitement, and then seemed to come to a dead stop,
for as she stood where she had leaped to her feet, there came once again
the sound of footsteps, now descending, and the steps were stayed by the
door, where it was evident that some one was listening.
Beat--beat--beat--beat--again her heart throbbed wildly for a few
moments. Then again, heavy pulsations that seemed as if they would make
her head split with each agonising pang. Then once more her heart
seemed to stop.
Would whoever was listening there see that the key was gone, and ask for
it? Would she be compelled to give it up, or would they keep watch at
the door to see that she did not escape?
"Do you want anything?" said the voice of Mrs Walls.
"No--no!" was the answer, and the last speaker's heart beat more wildly
in dread lest her eagerness should excite suspicion.
No! there was no notice taken: the steps went on along the passage, and
seemed to descend to an underground kitchen, while for some minutes the
prisoner stood motionless as a statue.
All silent once more but the grating noise as the key was softly pushed
into the lock. Then slowly--gradually--by a tremendous effort over
self, when she was longing to rush out, the key was turned, creaking
loudly in the old worn lock. But now the bolt shot back, the handle was
turned, and she stood in the passage, after the door had resented the
movement by giving two or three loud cracks.
She stood there ready dressed, just in time to hear a sharp voice that
she at once recognised exclaim--
"What's that?"
Then a chair made a loud scraping noise upon the floor below, as if some
one had suddenly risen.
There was not a moment to lose; there were steps already upon the
kitchen-stairs as she ran along the passage to the front door. But
there was an obstacle here: the door was locked, and a great chain up,
whose ring was at the bottom of a spiral.
To turn back the lock was but the work of an instant; and then she
seized the chain and tried to raise it from the spiral fastening, with
steps coming nearer at every turn: one--two--three--would it never come
off? Must she be dragged back again when she was so near to liberty?
It was a lifelong task condensed in a few seconds. The last turn--the
chain falling with a heavy clang--the door dragged open, as a firm hand
grasped her shoulder, and tried to draw her back. Then a wild,
despairing shriek rang down Borton Street, as a momentary struggle
ensued for liberty.
Volume 3, Chapter XXI.