"It is Colonel Livenza, Ferdinand. You are lost. Holy Mother have pity
on us! how can he have come here?"
"More treachery probably, somewhere," I replied, with an inward curse at
the mischance; but then a thought occurred to me. There was a cupboard
close to the door, and whispering hurriedly to Sarita, "Not a word to
him of me; I believe I can save us;" I went into it, and closed the door
upon myself.
Meanwhile the colloquy at the front door was proceeding.
"Yes, senor, I am the Mother Calvarro. Does your Excellency want
provisions for your men, or forage for the horses?"
"No. I want the Carlists you have hidden in the house here."
"Carlists? I don't understand your Excellency. We are no Carlists here,
but simple farming folk, and for the King, God bless him," said the old
crone.
"Aye, King. I know your jargon. Which King? You're near enough to the
grave, I should have thought, to speak the truth," answered the bully,
roughly.
"Your Excellency can speak freely. I am an old woman, and have none to
protect me here," was the retort, quietly spoken.
"My men will search the house; and look you, it will pay you best to
help, not hinder us."
"I am too old either to help or hinder. Do your will."
"Who is in your house? Answer plainly, and with no more sneering," he
said, in a truculent voice.
"The house is small to search; and there is none to resist."
"Well, no matter; I'll soon know;" and, giving some order which I could
not catch, he came along the passage, and, pushing the door wide open,
entered. "Ah, it is true, and you are here, Sarita. I could scarcely
believe it true. Who else is in the house?"
"For one there is a swaggering bully of old women, and his name is
Colonel Juan Livenza," answered Sarita, scornfully. "Another is the
good woman of the house whom you found it so easy and safe to insult."
"Thank you for that," he cried, stung to anger. "And I'll show my
gratitude by taking good care of all we find here."
"Like the gallant gentleman and King's officer that you are."
"I won't let your gibes anger me," he said. "It is for you I came; and
I must speak with you. I have come in friendship."
"I have no wish to speak with you. I am ready to go at once. I can be
your prisoner, but not your friend; the saints forbid that!" she cried,
with intense bitterness. And I saw the purpose in a flash. To get him
and his men away with her so that I might escape. And I blessed her for
the thought, even while I resolved to frustrate it. I had another plan,
and all unwittingly Livenza helped me.
"I intend to speak to you and have an understanding, and we can have it
here without fear of interruption," he said.
"You were ever a chivalrous gentleman," she retorted, trying hard to
goad him to anger.
But he paid no heed to the sneer, and, going to the door, called up one
of his men and ordered him to keep the house surrounded, but not to
disturb him. Then he closed the door, locked it, and put the key in his
pocket, and, feeling secure, said, "Now we can talk, Sarita, without any
to overhear us."
"A very prudent precaution, Colonel Livenza, and one for which I am
infinitely obliged to you," I said quietly, as I pushed open the door of
the cupboard and stepped out, revolver in hand.
The look of exultant triumph changed to one of craven fear, as he gave a
violent start and stared at me, his lips livid, and his face white with
the whiteness of death. He tried to answer, but for the moment could
force no words, and his lips moved in a soundless question inspired by
his overpowering dismay at my appearance.
Sarita gave me a look of reproach.
"Why did you do this?"
"That we three may talk without interruption," I answered, not taking my
eyes from Livenza's face. "Without interruption," I repeated, meaningly
and sternly. "Colonel Livenza knows me, and he knows that as he has the
key of the door in his pocket there must be delay, even were he to
summon his men; and that the minute of that delay would be his last on
earth."
"I shall not call anyone," he said, his voice no longer jaunty and
truculent, but hoarse, broken, and abject, the voice of a coward in
deadly fear.
"I am glad to hear it. You will therefore show your confidence in me
further by laying your weapon on the table."
"There is no need for that. I don't wish----"
"On the table, there," I said sternly, pointing to it.
"I have no objection," he declared, with a start at my stern tone; and
with trembling fingers he drew his sword and laid it down, and then put
his revolver by the side of it, and sighed.
"Hand the key of the door to Senorita Castelar," I bade him next, and
without a murmur he obeyed. "Now we can talk without restraint," I said,
and put his sword and revolver on a chair behind him. "Be good enough
to answer my questions fully. How comes it you have found your way here
to this out-of-the-way place at this precise moment?"
"I heard that this was a house where Carlists were likely----"
"Wait," I broke in, angrily. "Tell the truth, the full truth; no half
lies and generalities and equivocations; and don't forget that I also
know much--more than enough to test every word you say. If you lie, the
interview ends--and the end will not be well for you. Now, answer my
question."
"Sebastian Quesada's spies in Daroca found out that Senorita Castelar
was here, and I came in search of her."
"That's better. Now, what secret arrangement has there been between you
and Quesada affecting your relations with the senorita? Remember, I
know it, but wish her to hear it from you." The question set him
trembling in dire agitation, and for some moments he stood hesitating
and perplexed, trying vainly to speak.
"What do you mean?" he muttered.
"Answer," I said, sternly. "And mind, the truth."
Again he wrestled with his feelings, and then in a low voice: "He knew
of my passion for her, and--and thought that if she was to be arrested,
I had best do it."
"You are lying, Colonel Livenza," I said.
"I am unarmed," he muttered, shifting his eyes uneasily.
"I, too, was unarmed once before your weapon; and afterwards you swore
to tell me the truth. You know why. But if you mean that I am
insulting an unarmed man, here, take your revolver;" and I put it on the
table and pushed it toward him. "You lied, Colonel Livenza," I
repeated.
The sweat broke out on his forehead in the intensity of the strain. "I
don't want it," he said, hoarsely and feebly, pushing it back to me. "I
will say it. The senorita is to be my wife."
I put the pistol on the chair again; for the experiment had answered, as
I knew it would.
"You mean that your marriage with Senorita Castelar was part of the
price with which Quesada bought your help and silence?"
"If you put it so, yes," he murmured.
"This is infamous," cried Sarita.
"But it is not all. Wait, please," I said to her; then again to him--
"In regard to the Carlist plot for abducting the King, what part did he
give you to play?"
"I was the intermediary between him and the Carlists. Sarita knows
this," and he looked across to her.
"Be good enough to answer me, and not to speak to Senorita Castelar, nor
use her name. He promised you that she should be your wife. How was
that to be, and what was to happen if the abduction plot had not failed
and the Carlist movement had been successful?"
"It was not meant to succeed. His object was to get the young King
away, the Monarchy overthrown, and at the same time to crush the Carlist
risings as they are now being crushed. He then intended to set up a
provisional Government, as a Republic, with himself at the head of it,
and his own friends filling all the offices; and then to proclaim war
with America, in order to consolidate all classes in favour of the
Government."
"And you were to be----? what besides the senorita's husband."
"I was to be Minister of War."
"Spain has lost a brilliant servant, then, and you a portfolio and a
wife, by the failure of the plot against the King. Of course, you were
not fool enough to go so deep in without something more substantial than
Quesada's word. You knew him too well for this. What proofs of his
sincerity did he give you?"
He hesitated again, and showed once more the signs of extreme agitation,
and at length answered in a tentative, doubtful tone--
"I had only his word; nothing could be written."
"What proofs had you?" I cried again, sternly. "Do you think I don't
know what I am saying?"
"We discussed it frequently. I was in his confidence. I had no need
of----"
"What proofs had you? I shall not ask you again."
"He gave me the provisional promise in a letter." The words seemed to
be wrung from him like drops of blood, and when he had spoken he sighed
heavily, and threw up his hands in despair.
"Where is that letter? You have it with you, for you know it would be
safe nowhere else. Give it to me," and I held out my hand. I could
read him now easily enough, and saw my guess was right.
"It is with my bankers, in my safe, at Madrid," he protested; but I paid
no heed, and insisted, disregarding alike his protests, declarations,
oaths, and entreaties, and at length made him give it me. He was
carrying it sewn up in his clothes, and when I made him part with it, he
was so unstrung that he could no longer stand upright, but sank helpless
into a chair.
A glance at it showed me the prize I had secured, and the weapon it
would be against Quesada, if only I could get it safe to Madrid and lay
it before the King's eyes.
"I have nearly done with you," I said then. "And you have my word that
I will keep the document safely, so that when the Republic is proclaimed
you may claim your seat in the Ministry. But first tell us what
arrangements were made, and when, for the suppression of the Carlist
risings?"
"All has been in readiness for weeks past. For months, Government
agents of all nationalities and classes, men and women alike, have been
at work in all directions, and by every possible means worming out
secret information. Many of the men who to-day are among the trusted
leaders and supporters of Don Carlos are Government agents in Government
pay; every movement planned and made, every council and thought almost,
every act and speech, have been carried to Quesada, and actor and
speaker alike listed, watched, shadowed, tested in a hundred subtle
ways, and marked as either suspect or actual revolutionary. Never in
the world was such a net devised, and never spread with subtler cunning
or more implacable purpose. What chance could you have against such a
man?" he cried, turning to Sarita. "Surely never before was such an
iron strength, invincible will, fathomless depth, and consummate
judgment found in a Spaniard. His spies were everywhere, in your most
secret councils; he had your strength to a man; your secrets were his
daily knowledge; and you only remained free to plot and plan because he
knew that at a signal he could crush your whole revolution as I would
pinch a fly between my fingers. A week ago every man was in his place
ready to pounce the instant the signal was given; nay, the very prisons
and cells were marked out to which the Carlists were to be taken; and in
every town where the slightest trouble was anticipated, soldiers
outnumbering you five to one were ready at hand. What more proof do you
want than what has happened? He built his plans on the success of the
abduction plot, and yet when it fails he is found stronger than ever."
"This is mere statement," cried Sarita, stung into the protest by the
lingering refusal to believe she had been so duped.
"Proofs? The proofs are written all over Spain at this moment. Am I
not here? Is not that a proof? Why was I at Daroca before you thought
of coming? Why, except that he allowed you all to fool yourselves with
the belief that your stronghold here was not known to the Government,
and that you yourself would be sure to fly here when the trouble fell
upon your friends at Madrid? But if you want proofs, they exist not by
the hundred only, but by the thousand, in the orders given to every
regiment of soldiers and every body of police. There is no hope for
you, Sarita, but surrender. You cannot fight a man like Sebastian
Quesada."
Then I saw the reason of his earnestness, which for the moment had
puzzled me. He was bent upon getting her to renounce Carlism and upon
filling her with hate of Quesada, that she might the more easily be
pardoned and given to him as his wife. He could not have rendered me
more effective aid, indeed, had I prompted him in every word he said.
And then I went on to play the last card I had in reserve.
"You were in Quesada's confidence, you tell us, and it is plain that you
were to some extent, for he was going to help you in winning a wife.
Did he ever tell you his own intentions in regard to marriage?"
Sarita started and looked at me hurriedly, but I would not see the
glance.
"They were nothing to me."
"You have told us how these Carlists were outmanoeuvred and duped by
him; do you think there were no dupes among those nearer to him?" And I
spoke with an emphasis that impressed him.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you know that he himself also thought of marrying a Carlist, one
high in their councils, and that he made the price of his collusion in
this abduction plot a pledge from her to marry him?"
I had not miscalculated the effect of the stroke. Poltroon as the fellow
was in the abject regard for his life, he was a true Spaniard in his
love and his hate; and the jealousy in his nature was a devil that could
be roused easily. It put new strength into him now, and he sprang to
his feet again and glared across the table at me with eyes of fire.
"Do you mean I was his dupe in this? By the living Cross if I thought
that----"
"Ask the Senorita Castelar the name. She can tell you."
"Is this true, Sarita? Can you tell me?"
There was a pause of tense silence, and then she answered with slow
deliberation:
"After what you have told us of his falseness, there is no reason why I
should not say. I was to be his wife."
He stood glaring, at her like a man stiffened suddenly in the rigidity
of death, save that his eyes glowed like coals; and for a full minute he
seemed scarcely to breathe, so unnatural was his stillness. Then with a
deep-drawn sigh which shook the whole frame till he trembled, and I
thought would fall, he regained self-mastery.
"On your honour, and by the Holy Virgin, you swear that is true?" he
said, in a tone ringing with suppressed passion until it sounded utterly
unlike his own.
"I do not lie, Colonel Livenza. On my honour and by the Holy Virgin, I
swear that that is the truth," replied Sarita, slowly and solemnly.
There was another pause, this time much longer, and then he seemed to
force his agitation under control. And in the pause a thought flashed
upon me. Sarita's solemn oath had meant Quesada's death-warrant as
surely as though the warrant were in fact in existence and bore the sign
manual of the King. He was a completely changed man when he next spoke
with an altogether unnatural calm.
"Can I go now, Senor Carbonnell? I have work to do."
"And your men?"
"I shall withdraw them; the way is free to you. I would warn you to
escape if you wish to go, for the soldiers are everywhere; and above all
things avoid every Carlist haunt, for each of them is known. Sarita, we
shall not meet again. Will you bid me good-bye?" and he went toward her
as if expecting her to give him her hand; but not feeling quite sure of
him, I stepped forward. Sarita said, in a cold hard tone:
"No. You are less than nothing to me, Colonel Livenza. I can have no
kindly thought of, or for, a traitor like you. I hope we never shall
meet again."
Believing what I did of his intention, and that if I was right, he was
surely going to his death, I regretted her sternness.
"As you will. Some day, perhaps, you will think less harshly;" and
without a word or a glance to me, he picked up his arms, and, while I
unlocked the door, he sheathed his sword and thrust the revolver into
the case he wore about his waist, and went out.
We heard him call to his men, and give them a sharp short command; the
jingle of accoutrements as they mounted was followed by the sound of the
horses' hoofs as they wheeled round and trotted away.
"What had we best do now, Ferdinand?" asked Sarita, when the sound had
quite died away.
"You are convinced at last?"
"Don't," she cried, wincing in anguish. "I am so humiliated. To be set
up for barter by these villains, and cheated and fooled. For the Holy
Mother's sake don't let me think of it. Give me something to do. Take
me somewhere, anywhere that I may try to forget my shame."
"By God's help that shall be to England, Sarita; and we will know no
pause or stop till we are safe. We'll blunt the edge of this business by
the excitement of the journey," I cried, little perceiving what the
excitement would prove to be; and calling for Juan, I told him we would
start at once, and that he must find us a way through the web which the
soldiers had spread all round.
One precaution I took, due more to the fortunate accident that we had to
wait a few minutes for the horses, than to any foresight of mine. I
took the letter which Livenza had given me, and sealing it in an
envelope which I obtained from Mother Calvarro, I addressed it to Mayhew
at the British Embassy, with instructions to keep it with the papers I
had previously entrusted to him.
Before we mounted I drew Juan aside.
"See, my lad, if anything happens to me and I get caught by the
soldiers, I shall pass this envelope to you. You must guard it
jealously, for it may mean life and liberty for hundreds of us; and take
it to Madrid and place it in the hands of him to whom it is addressed,
Mr. Mayhew, at the British Embassy. Here is money; and if you have to
deliver the letter and do it safely, I will pay you very liberally." He
gave me a faithful promise, and then I mounted.
"What were you saying to Juan?" asked Sarita.
"I was giving him some instructions in regard to our safety," I
answered; not caring to start the fears of capture which were already
present to my mind in disquieting force. With that we started.
*CHAPTER XXVIII*
*HOW LUCK CAN CHANGE*
As we left Calvarro's I rode with the utmost caution, for I felt by no
means certain that Livenza, even in his changed mood, might not attempt
some treachery. But I wronged him in that thought. He had cleared right
away and had taken his men with him; and so soon as I was convinced of
this, I drew rein and questioned Juan as to the possible roads that were
open for us to take.
The position of Daroca made our difficulties vastly greater. The
mountains were on three sides of us, and Juan admitted that he knew the
passes very indifferently, while it was certain that the chief of them
would be blocked with the soldiery. The one bit of open country was
that by which I had ridden from Calatayud, and as that was also the
country which our young guide knew well, I determined to go there.
From Calatayud I resolved to use the railway, not to Saragossa or Madrid
but to work our way north through Old Castile and the Basque Provinces,
and across the frontier to Bayonne; and I directed Juan therefore to
make for Calatayud by the road I had travelled earlier in the night.
"Do you think you can hold out for a twenty-mile ride, Sarita?" I asked
her, as I explained generally my plans.
"I could ride for five hundred if I could only get away from my racking
thoughts," was her instant and vehement response; and with that I
directed Juan to travel as fast as the ground and the condition of the
horses would allow. I knew that a good remedy for her mental distress
would be found in physical fatigue, and we rattled along therefore at a
strapping pace and for a long time most part in silence. One caution I
gave her.
"If you have any papers or anything on you which might cause you to be
identified, you had better destroy them in case we are interfered with
and you are searched. Until we are out of Spain I shall say you are my
sister, and that we are leaving the country because of the troubled
state of things."
"I have nothing. I came in this disguise," she answered, referring to
the peasant's dress she wore. "Scarcely a convincing dress for Lord
Glisfoyle's sister. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters now," she
added, with a sigh.
The truth of this reference to her incongruous dress became more
apparent when the dawn broke and lightened. I had not given it a thought
while we were at Calvarro's, nor while the darkness made the matter of
costume a thing of no importance; but in the daylight it was altogether
different. Still, as riding habits didn't grow on Spanish hills, there
was nothing to do but to make the best of it, and get a change of dress
at the first available opportunity. After all, there was that
well-known excuse to fall back upon--the eccentricity of the English
traveller.
I left Sarita almost entirely to her own thoughts, and for some hours we
scarcely spoke to each other, until, as I had dismounted and was leading
my horse up a hill by her side, she looked down and said with a smile:
"You are very good to me, Ferdinand, and very thoughtful for me. I
cannot bear to speak much yet."
"That's all right. We shall have many years of chatter to make up for a
few hours' silence," I answered, cheeringly. "I can guess pretty well
how it is with you. Don't worry. Let's get out of this mess and we'll
have all the more to talk about. What a young brick that Juan is. I
don't know what we should have done without him. He'll pull us through
yet," and it really began to look as though he would, for we were within
a mile or two of Calatayud.
"And do I owe nothing to you?"
"We won't shout till we are out of the wood. But here we are at the top
of the hill, and forward's the word again;" and soon after that we came
in sight of Calatayud nestling down in the valley a good way below us,
the smoke from a few early fires curling up lazily in the breezeless
air.
"Thank God, there's the railway," I said, pointing to where a sinuous
line of white steam marked the course of a train just leaving the
station on its way to Madrid. Then I called Juan back. "I am not going
to your grandfather's if I can help it, Juan. I have reason to know it
will be dangerous. Is there a Royalist house in the place?"
"Yes, senor, there is Angostino's. But if there are any soldiers in the
town they are sure to be there."
"All the more reason for them not to think I should go there, too. Now
remember, the senorita and I are English people, brother and sister. I
am Lord Glisfoyle"--and I made him repeat the name several times, and
warned him to tell anyone who might question him that that was my name,
and that I was an eccentric English nobleman. "You won't ride with us
up to Angostino's, but as soon as we are close enough to the house to
find our way, you'll take the horses--they might be recognised--and we
shall walk there. And now I'm going to trust you. Take this letter and
keep it. If you hear that I have been arrested, go as quickly as you
can to Madrid and give it yourself to Mr. Mayhew, and tell him that I am
arrested. But if I am not, then I shall want you to be ready to go on a
journey with me later in the day or in the evening; I'll find means to
let you know the time." He promised me, and when we came near enough to
our destination Sarita and I dismounted, and he rode away with the
horses.
"Now, Mercy--that's your name now, remember--for a bold face on things
and no language but English; no character but that of eccentric English
folk; and a prayer from the bottom of our hearts that my friend Rubio is
not within a dozen miles of Angostino's. In that case we'll soon be at
breakfast, and you'll soon be in bed--and the best place for you."
Scarcely anyone was astir in the narrow street, or in the inn itself,
and swaggering in with the assurance of an irresponsible tourist, I
asked for breakfast and a couple of rooms for myself and sister. I took
care to put a good broad English accent into my Spanish, showed my money
with vulgar ostentation, and made the most of my title.
Everything went smoothly. A single gold piece converted a sleepy
serving maid from a wondering and contemptuous critic of Sarita's dress
into an obsequious servant, who led her away at once.
"Don't be long, Mercy, for I am as hungry as the deuce," I called after
her, loudly.
"All right," she cried in reply, in a most winsome accent that no
English girl could have copied to save her life.
Then the landlord, having heard that a rich Englishman had arrived, came
hurrying out to me with a mouthful of breakfast, a rich smell of garlic,
and a whole person eloquent of a desire to do my bidding and earn my
money; and a few minutes saw me in the only private sitting-room in the
place, a guest of less importance having been promptly dispossessed in
my honour. There is nothing like a combination of impudence, money, and
a character for English eccentricity if you want your own way on the
Continent. And I never wanted mine more badly in my life nor got it
more promptly.
"You are a magician, Ferdinand," said Sarita, as we sat at breakfast.
"But you are not Spanish," I whispered, warningly; "and an English
brother and sister don't carry their eccentricity so far as to talk in
any language but their own, Mercy."
"Then we can talk very little," she replied, in English.
"Which is precisely how English brothers and sisters do behave," said I,
with a laugh.
"What about clothes?" she asked in some little dismay.
"I'll see to that. After breakfast you must go to bed. I don't want
anyone to see you for one thing and I do want you to get some sleep; and
while you sleep, I'll work the oracle."
"You will what?" she asked, wrinkling her brow at my slang.
"I'll get hold of some clothes somehow, if I steal them;" and as soon as
breakfast was over, I went out to forage.
Juan was right in one respect. What soldiers were in Calatayud were at
the inn, and sticking to my principle of the value of impudence, I went
up to the two officers who were in command of the party, bade them
good-day, and asked them if they spoke English. One of them replied
that he did.
"Good," I said, heartily, and offered him my hand and asked him to give
me a cigarette. "I can speak Spanish a bit, but our English tongues
don't seem to fit the words somehow. Let me introduce myself, for I
want a little advice. I am Lord Glisfoyle, an Englishman, travelling
with my sister, and we have just heard of the death of a relative in
London, and have to get there quickly. Which is the best way to go? I
mean, considering the mess and excitement of all this Carlist business.
I was at Daroca, and wanted to get up to Saragossa by rail; but
yesterday you gentlemen had taken possession of the line, and I'll be
hanged if I could get tickets. So we rode over here and left our
baggage there. Here is my card;" and, as if searching for one, I pulled
out a roll of English bank notes, which impressed them as much as I
desired. "I haven't one, I see; I must have left my card case when I
changed, I expect. Anyhow, it doesn't matter."
The officer was as obliging as courtesy demanded he should be to a rich
English nobleman in a difficulty, and very soon we three were discussing
my route over a bottle of the best wine which Angostino could find in
his cellar.
The Madrid route was suggested; but I said I had thought of the other,
and then my two companions worked out the train service in that
direction. After that was settled we went out together and strolled
about the streets chatting and smoking; and in the course of an hour I
had acquired a good deal of useful information about the doings and
plans of the military; while on my side I took them to the telegraph
office and let them see the telegrams I sent off to London and to Mayhew
at the British Embassy in the name of Lord Glisfoyle.
That business completed, they went off to their military duties, and I
found shops where I could get some clean linen for myself and a costume
of a kind for Sarita, to whom, trading on Spanish ignorance of such
things, I ordered them to be sent in the name of Lady Mercy Glisfoyle.
Then I sauntered in the direction of old Tomaso's house, and finding
Juan on the lookout for me, I told him to be at the station that
afternoon at four o'clock, to watch me but not to speak to me; and to
take a ticket for the station where we had to change into the train for
the north.
Having done this good morning's work, I went back to the inn to have a
couple of hours' sleep before leaving. I paid liberally and tipped
royally, so that everyone about the place was sorry for my going. The
two officers insisted upon accompanying us to the station to see me off;
an attention which would have been very pleasant, had I not feared that
he who spoke English might detect Sarita's accent; but I put a bold face
on matters, and explained that my sister, Lady Mercy Glisfoyle, was very
much fatigued, and had so bad an attack of neuralgia that she had to
bandage her face and could not speak. And such was the confidence in me
that even that simple ruse was not detected, and no suspicion was
roused.
At the station the officer was good enough to take our tickets for us,
and he thus saved me all troublesome questions. In fact every
difficulty seemed to vanish as we faced it; and Sarita was actually in
the train, and I was standing chatting with my two new friends, when the
luck veered, and the crash came all suddenly. Nor was it any the sweeter
to me because I had brought it on myself by a single piece of
over-acting.
The telegram to Mayhew at the Embassy proved my undoing. It was
tampered with or censored or something at Madrid. At any rate it came
under the attention of the police there; and the name having been
bracketed with that of Carbonnell, when the attempt had been made to
arrest me at the Hotel de l'Opera, somebody's suspicions were roused,
and instructions were sent to stop me. I was laughing with the officers
and just going to bid them good-bye, when someone approached me.
"Lord Glisfoyle, I think."
"Yes, what do you want with me?"
"I am sorry, but there may be a mistake of some kind. I have
instructions to ask you not to leave Calatayud for the present."
"From whom are your instructions?" I asked quickly, in very fluent
Spanish, forgetting all about my English accent in my chagrin and
surprise.
"They come from Madrid; and they speak of a certain Ferdinand Carbonnell
in connection with you."
"I am an English nobleman, and at a loss to understand you. Do you mean
you intend to stop my going away. You'll do so at your own risk; and
unless you use force I shall certainly go."
"I trust you will not compel us to use force. I have no alternative but
to obey my instructions."
At that moment I noticed the expression of the two officers and realised
my blunder in showing my knowledge of Spanish. I was to pay a heavy
price for it, too.
"I repeat I am an English nobleman travelling with my sister, and the
English Government will not put up quietly with any interference of this
kind. I am called by urgent business of a private character to London,
and any delay will be serious. These gentlemen know that I have
telegraphed to London announcing my immediate return."
"Your Spanish is far purer than I understood, senor," replied the
English-speaking officer, drily. "I think you can explain matters
sufficiently to dispense with any reference to me."
"As you please," I answered, loftily; and turning to the official, I
said curtly, "I will do as you wish, and will just explain matters to my
sister." I could think of no better excuse to get a word with Sarita.
Speak to her I must--to urge her to continue the journey, and to give
her money as I feared she had none. I turned to the carriage door and
said coolly, in English: "I'm stopped, but you can go on; and must take
this money. Wire to Mrs. Curwen when you reach Bayonne, and remain
there. Please," I urged, backing the appeal with a glance. To my
delighted surprise she consented, and with a light nod, I added: "I
shall be on by the next train," and turned to the official, "I am at
your disposal, senor."
But in the meantime the two officers had communicated their suspicions
to the man, and he now said:
"I must ask the senorita, your sister, to alight and remain also. She
shall be treated with every consideration."
"This is monstrous," I exclaimed indignantly; but my protests were
unavailing, and we had to suffer the infinite chagrin and disappointment
of seeing the train steam away without us. I masked my feelings under
an assumption of indignation, however, and asked where we were to go.
"You can return to Angostino's, senor," said the official, very
politely, "but you must permit that I remain in your company until I
have further instructions."
"All places are alike to me after this scandalous outrage," I answered.
Then, looking about me, I saw Juan watching us at a safe distance, and
as we passed I gave him a meaning glance, and said aloud to Sarita, "We
are arrested, you see," and he answered with a look to show that he
understood and would do my bidding.
"I wish to telegraph to the British Embassy," I then said to the
official.
"I regret, senor, but I can allow nothing to be done until I have
further instructions," and there was nothing for me but to comply.
We went back to the inn to wait; but the delay was not long, for in
reply to the telegram announcing the arrest there came a message for us
both to be taken to Madrid.
"You will give me your word to make no attempt to resist us, senor?"
"Certainly I will not. I won't recognise your action in any way, and
you can take the consequences of everything you do," was my hot reply.
But it served no other purpose than to cause the man to have two
subordinates with him in the carriage, thus preventing all attempt at
conversation between Sarita and myself, other than a few words of
English.
Sarita played her part well enough, showing a stolid, stoical
indifference to everything, and maintaining the pretence of
indisposition. But it was all of no avail. I had one consolation. Juan
was in the train, and I knew that very soon Mayhew would be acting to
effect my release; and I occupied the time and tedium of the journey by
thinking out the far more serious problem of Sarita's arrest.
At Madrid the truth came out, of course, as I knew it would. Rubio was
on the platform waiting for us when the train drew up. Recognising us
both immediately, he rubbed his hands with pleasure over the importance
of the arrest. He disregarded my angry protests, and in a few words
sent my spirits down to zero.
"You are Ferdinand Carbonnell; I know that, and that would be enough,
but there is more. This is Senorita Castelar, a most prominent Carlist,
and you were stopped in the act of helping her to escape from the
country under the pretence that she was your sister. For that even Lord
Glisfoyle would have to answer. You are not in England, senor."
"No; but you'll find the English Government will have a word to say."
"That is for his Excellency the Minister to settle, and for the present
you are both prisoners;" and without more ado he put Sarita into one
carriage and me into another, with a sufficient guard to ensure our
safety. Thus, instead of being well on the road to Bayonne as I had
hoped, I found myself locked up in a filthy prison cell in Madrid, with
a bitter load of misgivings and fears, and a host of useless
lamentations and revilings for the shortsightedness and blunders which I
had committed at the moment when Sarita's freedom lay in the hollow of
my hand. I could have dashed my head against the wall in the bitterness
of my self-reproach and futile regrets.
They would not let me communicate with a soul outside. I asked to send a
letter to the British Embassy, and they answered that I was a Spaniard
and a Carlist, and would be treated accordingly. I demanded an
interview with Quesada, and they replied with the flout that I could see
him when he made an appointment. I went so far even as to request that
a message be sent to the Palace, and they laughed at me for a madman,
and jeered and sneered the louder in proportion as I stormed and fumed
and raged. Seeing that, I made up my mind to be sensible, and do the
only thing I could do--wait.
Nor did I wait in vain.
The luck which had gone so well with me to a point, only to change at
Calatayud with such ruinous consequences, veered round again the moment
I reached Madrid, where there had been a witness of my arrest who was
soon to bring me help.
I had been about three hours in the cell, and was passing the weary,
baffling, irritating time in speculating how long I was to be left like
a forgotten dog in the dirty kennel of a cell, and how long it would
take Mayhew to get to work to find me and procure my release, when the
door of the cell was unlocked and a warder told me to follow him.
"Where to?" I asked.
"There's a visitor for you."
"Bring him here, then," I answered, determined that anyone from the
Embassy should see the filthy place in which I had been caged.
"Come with me," he said again.
"I will not," I answered, and curled myself up on the bare bench. At
this he growled out an oath, and after a moment banged the door and
locked it again. It was probably a novel experience for him to find any
prisoner unwilling to get out of such a kennel at the first opportunity,
and, in truth, when some minutes elapsed and he did not return, I was
disposed to regret my own obstinacy.
But I heard his returning steps later on, the door was once more opened,
and the brute said, in a tone of deference:
"The prisoner is here, senorita," and I jumped to my feet in intense
surprise to find Dolores Quesada, holding up her skirts, and looking in
dismay at the disgusting condition of the cell, and then with distress,
sympathy, and concern at me.
*CHAPTER XXIX*
*QUESADA AGAIN*
"I must apologise for your brother's taste, senorita, in compelling me
to allow you to find me in such a--palace," I said, with a wave of the
hand about the filthy cell. "This is the hospitality he considers is my
due."
The disgusting stench of the place turned her sick and faint, and anger
flashed from her eyes. I was not at all sorry for her to see for
herself the hole in which I had been caged.
"You must leave it at once, senor. It is horrible," she cried.
"I am but one of hundreds honoured with the same treatment, and the
courtesy of my host is so pressing as to render it difficult for me to
leave."
"I have brought the order for your release, senor. It is
abominable--abominable! I wish to speak to Senor Carbonnell; take us to
some place where we can breathe," she said to the warder.
"I told the prisoner to come before, but he refused, senorita," said the
man in a surly tone; and then we followed him along the corridor to a
square, bare room near the entrance to the gaol.
"I am ashamed at what you have suffered, Senor Carbonnell. My brother
has deceived me, and broken his pledged word."
"I shall ever remember your former efforts for me, senorita, but you
will see that the subject of Senor Quesada's conduct is one I can
scarcely discuss with his sister," I answered.
"But it is just that which I want to discuss. I have obtained your
release----"
"Pardon me," I broke in, "but I cannot accept my release on any
conditions whatever. I am profoundly indebted to you for this act of
yours, deeply impressed by the motives which underlie it, and can never
cease to think kindly of you for it; but, though you found me a prisoner
in such vile surroundings, I am not without great influence even here in
Madrid--far greater than your brother deems--and my liberation was at
most but a matter of hours. I can therefore make no conditions even
with one so gracious and so friendly as yourself."
"You have maddened Sebastian against you by threatening him, but you
will not think of such things."
"I would do much to please you, I am sure you know that; but you ask me
what is impossible," I answered, firmly.
"There is no man in the world for whom I would have done this," she
cried, impetuously. "And I had to strain to the utmost my influence
with Sebastian to do it. The very fact that he ordered your arrest in
defiance of his pledge to me shows how bitterly he feels. I was at the
station this evening by the merest chance when you were brought there,
and I could scarcely believe my own eyes when I saw you were under
arrest. I went at once to Sebastian----"
"Pray forgive me if I interrupt you, but I cannot discuss his conduct
with you. If you saw the arrest, however, you will have seen that I was
not alone in being arrested; and if you wish to do me a kindness you
will use this great influence of yours to secure the liberation of
Senorita Castelar."
But at the mention of Sarita she drew herself up, and both anger and
surprise, but chiefly anger, were in the look she gave me.
"You ask me that?" she cried, and then as suddenly changed. "You do not
think she is in any danger, surely?" she added.
"I know that she was arrested, and you yourself saw the place where I
was imprisoned, and can judge of the fitness of such a hole for a girl."
"And you don't know? She has never told you?" she cried, scornfully.
"I am not sure I understand you," I replied.
"She is to be my brother's wife, senor. Do you think he would suffer
her to be treated as--as you have been?"
"Senorita, there is a great misunderstanding somewhere; but if anything
is certain, it is that she will never be his wife."
"Will you come and see Sebastian?" she asked, suddenly. "I am so
anxious to have peace between you."
"It could do no good."
"I ask you to come. If you value what I have done here, you will
consent."
"It can do no good; but if you ask it I will go;" and the instant I had
consented she led the way to her carriage, which was waiting outside the
gate.
"Where is Senorita Castelar?" I asked, as we drove rapidly along.
"I don't know, but she is sure to be well cared for," she answered, as
though the subject was no concern of hers; and no more was said until we
were close to the house. Then, with some hesitation, she said: "I know
nearly everything of my brother's plans, and shall be present at the
interview. There must be a full understanding."
I made no reply, for I did not quite know what she meant; but I was
certain that if there was to be anything like a full understanding the
interview promised to be interesting; and I began to feel glad I had
come.
Quesada was at home, and in the room where I had had my last
conversation with him and my introduction to Rubio, and I found him
looking much more concerned and anxious than I had ever seen him.
"What is the meaning of this visit?" was his blunt greeting.
"I have brought Senor Carbonnell," said Dolores, "that these things may
be explained and talked over. I wished it, Sebastian."
"Very well; what does he want to explain?"
"You told me to-night, for the second time, that he could and would ruin
you if he was set at liberty. I wish to have peace between you. I told
you so, when I insisted on his being liberated; and I have told him so,
too. Now that you are face to face, say plainly what this means, and
how it is to be avoided."
"When women interfere in matters they don't understand, they always do
something foolish. This is mere foolishness. Senor Carbonnell--or, to
give him his proper title, Lord Glisfoyle--is bent upon doing his utmost
to ruin me, and you have given him the opportunity. Why, then, seek to
delay him in his purpose? Let him go and begin his task." He spoke
quite firmly, and with great deliberateness.
"This is hopeless, Sebastian," cried his sister, wringing her hands.
"What would you have me do, Dolores? Assume a fear of him which I do
not feel? Throw myself at his feet and beg his mercy, when I stand in
no need of it? Play at theatricals? You are a woman, we are men; and
you don't understand us or our methods. Lord Glisfoyle and I have been
engaged in a duel to the death. I had him at my advantage when you
interfered--for the second time. You have given him the advantage now,
and the cue is with him. He holds, or thinks he holds, weapons which he
can use to secure my ruin; and you seem to think you can induce him not
to use them by bringing him here to talk over, as you call it, the
position. I am sure he did not come willingly, and am surprised he came
at all; but here or anywhere else--except, of course, in safe
keeping--it is all one to me. We shall continue the duel under the
circumstances which you have changed in this way to my disadvantage."
"I was leaving Spain when your men stopped me and brought me to Madrid,"
I said.
"But not alone," he rapped out, sharply.
"No, with the lady who is to be my wife," I retorted.
For a second his hands clenched involuntarily, and he winced, but
instantly recovered himself, and spoke calmly.
"That remains to be seen. But why this interview?"
"I have not sought it," I answered curtly, and got up to leave.
"You must not go," cried Dolores.
"My dear Dolores, do not meddle any more."
"Yes, Sebastian, I will. I must speak. Senor Carbonnell--Lord
Glisfoyle, I mean--knows your secret plotting in regard to the King; he
holds, as you told me, documents which must compromise you, and may ruin
you if he can prove they are genuine. These are what you call his
weapons. There must be some inducement that can prevail upon him not to
use them. Is that not so, Lord Glisfoyle?" she cried, turning to me in
deep distress.
"You are forgetting yourself, Dolores. We are not children or women,"
said the Minister, sternly. "I will have no more of this child's play.
You should not have brought Lord Glisfoyle here. Every word you utter
but makes your blunder worse; and God knows you have done enough
mischief already to satisfy even a woman."
"I asked you a question, Lord Glisfoyle," said Dolores, paying no regard
to his protests.
"A question I find most difficult, I may say impossible, to answer.
Your brother knows how he has treated me, and knows also how he would
act were our positions reversed. I can say no more."
"But do you mean to use these letters?" she persisted.
"Since obtaining them I have obtained others, and much information. I
know the part you have played throughout this business, Senor
Quesada,"--I felt it easier to speak to him--"and I shall not rest until
I have done my utmost to bring this home to you. In one thing you have
wronged your sister. I should not have remained in what you term safe
keeping more than a few hours at the utmost; for already there are
forces at work for my liberation which even you would find it hopeless
to resist. What you term your sister's blunder, therefore--procuring my
liberation from the prison--is no more than an anticipation by those few
hours of what must have followed."
"That may be. At any rate, you are free, and you owe it to her." This
reminder of my obligation to Dolores was the first slight rift in his
firmness.
"If it were possible, it would influence my attitude. But nothing can do
that--nothing, at least, that you can do."
"I knew there was something. What is it? Tell us that, Lord Glisfoyle.
I beg and pray of you, say what it is," cried Dolores, in a tone of
fervent entreaty.
"It is useless even to name it. It is nothing less than the undoing of
all this wilful and unholy persecution of the Carlists--wilful and
unholy because undertaken for the sake of furthering, not the welfare of
Spain, but your brother's ambition."
"It is not impossible. I am sure it is not," she exclaimed. "You can
do anything, Sebastian; while your influence is what it is, you can do
anything. Say that this shall be done, and Lord Glisfoyle will leave
Spain--I know he will--and give up these documents you fear so much."
They were the mere wild, idle words of a distracted woman, the cry of a
true heart torn asunder by the vehemence of emotion.
To my surprise, her brother did not instantly repudiate them, however,
but sat with pent, frowning brows in deep thought for a moment.
"Would you go alone?" he asked then, without relaxing the stern, set
expression of face.
"Do you mean would anything ever make me consent to see Sarita Castelar
your wife?"
"Would you go alone?" he repeated, in the same tone.
"Nothing would make me consent to that," I replied, answering my own
question. "And nothing will ever induce me not to hold you responsible
for her safety."
He heard me without a sign, and again buried himself in his thoughts.
Then he pushed his chair back, rose, and went to the door.
"Leave us a few minutes, Dolores," he said, still in the same set, even
tone. "It is possible that we may yet arrive at an understanding."
She looked at him in fear, then at me, doubtingly, and again back at
him.
"No, I cannot leave you. I--I dare not."
"Leave us, Dolores. I shall not murder Lord Glisfoyle."
She still hesitated and lingered, but at length yielded, saying as she
passed me--
"I shall see you again?"
I bowed, but said nothing; I was too full of surprise at the turn things
were taking, and too thoughtful, wondering what was to come next.
Quesada held the door while his sister passed out, and closed and locked
it after her, and turned back to his table.
"We are now quite alone, Lord Glisfoyle, and can speak plainly. You
love Sarita Castelar, and hope to make her your wife?"
"I decline to discuss her with you, Senor Quesada."
"Well, then, I tell you she is pledged to marry me, and I will suffer no
man on earth to take her from me."
"You did not speak so to your tool, Colonel Juan Livenza. I am aware of
the infamous bargain you made with him."
"I will not allow anyone to take her from me," he said again, between
his teeth, the increased tenseness of the tone being his only notice of
my words. "You are an English nobleman, and presumably a man of
courage. When you were here last time in my house, you struck me. You
are now bent on ruining me, and have set everything on that venture.
Owing to my sister's interference, you are free; and because she loves
you, she is mad enough to stay my hands in dealing with you, knowing,
what you also know, things that must be kept secret. And as a crowning
stroke you threaten to rob me of the woman I love. Under those
circumstances, what think you is the fitting course for two men--two
enemies, if you will--placed as you and I are, to pursue?"
"If I understand you, I decline to discuss such a proposal."
"If you are a gentleman and a man of honour, and not a coward, you will
find only one answer to my question," he said, his rage deepening in its
quiet intensity with every sentence, till each word he uttered was a
deliberate insult--an added knot on the lash of his bitter tongue. But
I had my temper too well in hand to take fire.
"There are matters you forget. You set your bully, Livenza, upon me
first; you used your power as Minister to destroy me; you ordered your
police spies to dog me; and you had me gaoled in one of your filthy
prisons. In this way you exhausted every means in your power to deal
with me officially; and having schemed and tricked and bullied thus in
vain, you find yourself at bay, and as a last resource you remember your
honour with suspicious tardiness, and think of the means which the
gentleman and the man of honour you speak of would have thought of
first. I will not fight with you, Senor Quesada."
"You are a coward, then."
"I don't accept your standards in that matter."
"I will make you fight me," he cried; and, his rage breaking beyond all
control, he rushed at me, and raised his arm to strike me with the back
of the hand across the mouth; but I caught his arm, and thrust him
staggering back against his chair, over which he nearly fell. Thinking
he might have firearms, and that in his mad fury he would use them, I
unlocked the door, and was leaving the room when he called to me; but I
paid no heed, and went out.
Dolores was in waiting, and came when she heard me leaving. She was
paler even than before, like one distraught with fear and anxiety. I
pitied her from the bottom of my heart, and her brother's blunt
statement that she loved me, and had been led by that love to insist on
my freedom even at the cost of ruin to him, touched me very closely.
"Is there any hope of an arrangement, senor?" she asked, searching my
face with haggard eyes.
"None whatever," I replied, shaking my head.
"Can nothing bring you two together again?"
"It is absolutely impossible, senorita."
I spoke as gently as I could, but it was useless to flinch from the
truth.
"Can I do nothing to prevail with you? I have tried so hard to serve
you," she said, in a tone of despairing wistfulness.
"For you, personally, I would do anything in my power. I am not
unmindful of what it must have cost you, and you shall not find me
ungrateful."
"I do not ask for thanks; I do not want them. I should have done the
same had the ruin been mine instead of Sebastian's," and she smiled. "I
am glad to have done it;" but the smile ended in a sigh at the thought
of the price to be paid.