And he said, "Do not dance with that man tonight, Alicia. I mistrust
him much."
His voice had more of a husband's command than a lover's entreaty. She
looked at him with some scorn, but when she saw his face grow
black--for the Montressors brooked scant disregard of their authority,
as I had good reason to know--she seemed to change, and a smile came
to her lips, though her eyes glowed balefully.
Then she laid her arms about his neck and--though it seemed to me that
she had as soon strangled as embraced him--her voice was wondrous
sweet and caressing as she murmured in his ear.
He laughed and his brow cleared, though he said still sternly, "Do not
try me too far, Alicia."
Then they went out, she a little in advance and very stately.
After that my aunts also came in, very beautifully and modestly
dressed, but they seemed to me as nothing after Alicia. For I was
caught in the snare of her beauty, and the longing to see her again so
grew upon me that after a time I did an undutiful and disobedient
thing.
I had been straitly charged to stay in bed, which I did not, but got
up and put on a gown. For it was in my mind to go quietly down, if by
chance I might again see Alicia, myself unseen.
But when I reached the great hall I heard steps approaching and,
having a guilty conscience, I slipped aside into the blue parlour and
hid me behind the curtains lest my aunts should see me.
Then Alicia came in, and with her a man whom I had never before seen.
Yet I instantly bethought myself of a lean black snake, with a
glittering and evil eye, which I had seen in Mrs. Montressor's garden
two summers agone, and which was like to have bitten me. John, the
gardener, had killed it, and I verily thought that if it had a soul,
it must have gotten into this man.
Alicia sat down and he beside her, and when he had put his arms about
her, he kissed her face and lips. Nor did she shrink from his embrace,
but even smiled and leaned nearer to him with a little smooth motion,
as they talked to each other in some strange, foreign tongue.
I was but a child and innocent, nor knew I aught of honour and
dishonour. Yet it seemed to me that no man should kiss her save only
my Uncle Hugh, and from that hour I mistrusted Alicia, though I
understood not then what I afterwards did.
And as I watched them--not thinking of playing the spy--I saw her face
grow suddenly cold, and she straightened herself up and pushed away
her lover's arms.
Then I followed her guilty eyes to the door, where stood my Uncle
Hugh, and all the pride and passion of the Montressors sat on his
lowering brow. Yet he came forward quietly as Alicia and the snake
drew apart and stood up.
At first he looked not at his guilty wife but at her lover, and smote
him heavily in the face. Whereat he, being a coward at heart, as are
all villains, turned white and slunk from the room with a muttered
oath, nor was he stayed.
My uncle turned to Alicia, and very calmly and terribly he said, "From
this hour you are no longer wife of mine!"
And there was that in his tone which told that his forgiveness and
love should be hers nevermore.
Then he motioned her out and she went, like a proud queen, with her
glorious head erect and no shame on her brow.
As for me, when they were gone I crept away, dazed and bewildered
enough, and went back to my bed, having seen and heard more than I had
a mind for, as disobedient people and eavesdroppers ever do.
But my Uncle Hugh kept his word, and Alicia was no more wife to him,
save only in name. Yet of gossip or scandal there was none, for the
pride of his race kept secret his dishonour, nor did he ever seem
other than a courteous and respectful husband.
Nor did Mrs. Montressor and my aunts, though they wondered much among
themselves, learn aught, for they dared question neither their brother
nor Alicia, who carried herself as loftily as ever, and seemed to pine
for neither lover nor husband. As for me, no one dreamed I knew aught
of it, and I kept my own counsel as to what I had seen in the blue
parlour on the night of the Christmas ball.
After the New Year I went home, but ere long Mrs. Montressor sent for
me again, saying that the house was lonely without little Beatrice. So
I went again and found all unchanged, though the Place was very quiet,
and Alicia went out but little from the Red Room.
Of my Uncle Hugh I saw little, save when he went and came on the
business of his estate, somewhat more gravely and silently than of
yore, or brought to me books and sweetmeats from town.
But every day I was with Alicia in the Red Room, where she would talk
to me, oftentimes wildly and strangely, but always kindly. And though
I think Mrs. Montressor liked our intimacy none too well, she said no
word, and I came and went as I listed with Alicia, though never quite
liking her strange ways and the restless fire in her eyes.
Nor would I ever kiss her, after I had seen her lips pressed by the
snake's, though she sometimes coaxed me, and grew pettish and vexed
when I would not; but she guessed not my reason.
March came in that year like a lion, exceedingly hungry and fierce,
and my Uncle Hugh had ridden away through the storm nor thought to be
back for some days.
In the afternoon I was sitting in the wing hall, dreaming wondrous
day-dreams, when Alicia called me to the Red Room. And as I went, I
marvelled anew at her loveliness, for the blood was leaping in her
face and her jewels were dim before the lustre of her eyes. Her hand,
when she took mine, was burning hot, and her voice had a strange ring.
"Come, little Beatrice," she said, "come talk to me, for I know not
what to do with my lone self today. Time hangs heavily in this gloomy
house. I do verily think this Red Room has an evil influence over me.
See if your childish prattle can drive away the ghosts that riot in
these dark old corners--ghosts of a ruined and shamed life! Nay,
shrink not--do I talk wildly? I mean not all I say--my brain seems on
fire, little Beatrice. Come; it may be you know some grim old legend
of this room--it must surely have one. Never was place fitter for a
dark deed! Tush! never be so frightened, child--forget my vagaries.
Tell me now and I will listen."
Whereat she cast herself lithely on the satin couch and turned her
lovely face on me. So I gathered up my small wits and told her what I
was not supposed to know--how that, generations agone, a Montressor
had disgraced himself and his name, and that, when he came home to his
mother, she had met him in that same Red Room and flung at him taunts
and reproaches, forgetting whose breast had nourished him; and that
he, frantic with shame and despair, turned his sword against his own
heart and so died. But his mother went mad with her remorse, and was
kept a prisoner in the Red Room until her death.
So lamely told I the tale, as I had heard my Aunt Elizabeth tell it,
when she knew not I listened or understood. Alicia heard me through
and said nothing, save that it was a tale worthy of the Montressors.
Whereat I bridled, for I too was a Montressor, and proud of it.
But she took my hand soothingly in hers and said, "Little Beatrice, if
tomorrow or the next day they should tell you, those cold, proud
women, that Alicia was unworthy of your love, tell me, would you
believe them?"
And I, remembering what I had seen in the blue parlour, was
silent--for I could not lie. So she flung my hand away with a bitter
laugh, and picked lightly from the table anear a small dagger with a
jewelled handle.
It seemed to me a cruel-looking toy and I said so--whereat she smiled
and drew her white fingers down the thin, shining blade in a fashion
that made me cold.
"Such a little blow with this," she said, "such a little blow--and the
heart beats no longer, the weary brain rests, the lips and eyes smile
never again! 'Twere a short path out of all difficulties, my
Beatrice."
And I, understanding her not, yet shivering, begged her to cast it
aside, which she did carelessly and, putting a hand under my chin, she
turned up my face to hers.
"Little, grave-eyed Beatrice, tell me truly, would it grieve you much
if you were never again to sit here with Alicia in this same Red
Room?"
And I made answer earnestly that it would, glad that I could say so
much truly. Then her face grew tender and she sighed deeply.
Presently she opened a quaint, inlaid box and took from it a shining
gold chain of rare workmanship and exquisite design, and this she hung
around my neck, nor would suffer me to thank her but laid her hand
gently on my lips.
"Now go," she said. "But ere you leave me, little Beatrice, grant me
but the one favour--it may be that I shall never ask another of you.
Your people, I know--those cold Montressors--care little for me, but
with all my faults, I have ever been kind to you. So, when the
morrow's come, and they tell you that Alicia is as one worse than
dead, think not of me with scorn only but grant me a little pity--for
I was not always what I am now, and might never have become so had a
little child like you been always anear me, to keep me pure and
innocent. And I would have you but the once lay your arms about my
neck and kiss me."
And I did so, wondering much at her manner--for it had in it a strange
tenderness and some sort of hopeless longing. Then she gently put me
from the room, and I sat musing by the hall window until night fell
darkly--and a fearsome night it was, of storm and blackness. And I
thought how well it was that my Uncle Hugh had not to return in such a
tempest. Yet, ere the thought had grown cold, the door opened and he
strode down the hall, his cloak drenched and wind-twisted, in one hand
a whip, as though he had but then sprung from his horse, in the other
what seemed like a crumpled letter.
Nor was the night blacker than his face, and he took no heed of me as
I ran after him, thinking selfishly of the sweetmeats he had promised
to bring me--but I thought no more of them when I got to the door of
the Red Room.
Alicia stood by the table, hooded and cloaked as for a journey, but
her hood had slipped back, and her face rose from it marble-white,
save where her wrathful eyes burned out, with dread and guilt and
hatred in their depths, while she had one arm raised as if to thrust
him back.
As for my uncle, he stood before her and I saw not his face, but his
voice was low and terrible, speaking words I understood not then,
though long afterwards I came to know their meaning.
And he cast foul scorn at her that she should have thought to fly with
her lover, and swore that naught should again thwart his vengeance,
with other threats, wild and dreadful enough.
Yet she said no word until he had done, and then she spoke, but what
she said I know not, save that it was full of hatred and defiance and
wild accusation, such as a mad woman might have uttered.
And she defied him even then to stop her flight, though he told her to
cross that threshold would mean her death; for he was a wronged and
desperate man and thought of nothing save his own dishonour.
Then she made as if to pass him, but he caught her by her white wrist;
she turned on him with fury, and I saw her right hand reach stealthily
out over the table behind her, where lay the dagger.
"Let me go!" she hissed.