I ELOPE
It was only to be expected that as I approached Madame d'Artelle's
house I should be nervously uneasy lest the main foundation of my new
plan should have collapsed.
I had built everything on the assumption that Count Gustav would induce
his brother to carry out the original scheme of marrying Madame
d'Artelle by stealth. I had threatened to bring her husband to Pesth
on the following day; and since he knew as well as she seemed to, that
M. Constans' arrival would put an absolute end to Madame's usefulness
as a tool, I calculated that he would lose no effort to make use of her
forthwith.
It was obvious, however, that my absence put an end to the reason for
secrecy; and it was therefore quite on the cards that Karl might have
been brought to Madame d'Artelle's house and some kind of ceremony have
been already performed there. I should look a good many sorts of a
fool if I walked into the house to find them already married.
Peter opened the door and gave a great start of surprise at seeing me.
"Madame is in?" I asked, in as casual a tone as I could assume.
"Yes, miss. She is in, but she is going out. We thought you had left,
miss."
"It's all right, Peter. I'll go up to Madame. She is probably in her
room, dressing."
"Yes, miss; with Ernestine; but----"
"Don't trouble. You need not tell any one I have come back;" and I
gave him a golden reason for silence. "Hide the fact of my presence
and do what I wish, and there will be several more of these to follow."
"I am always anxious to please you, miss."
"I wish to see Madame quite alone; can you make an excuse to call
Ernestine downstairs?"
He was a shrewd fellow enough in his way. We went upstairs and I
waited in an adjoining room while he called Ernestine out and the two
went down together.
As soon as they had gone I opened Madame's door and entered.
"Come, Ernestine, I want you. What do you mean by going away like
that?" she said crossly, not seeing me.
"Perhaps I can help you, Henriette. Ernestine is busy downstairs;" and
I locked the door behind me.
"Christabel! You?"
"I have had to come back to keep my word and save you. You are in
great danger. M. Constans must have picked up the scent of the
inquiries I made recently. I have this telegram;" and I put into her
hands the telegram which I had received from Paris.
I thought she was going to faint. The man must have had some great
hold over her; for she was certainly overwhelmed with deadly fear. She
stared with horror-struck eyes at the paper as though it reeked with
the threat of instant death. Then she turned to glare at me, with not
a vestige of colour on her face.
"_Nom de Dieu_, he will kill me. He will kill me;" she said, in a low,
strained, husky whisper, as she fell into a chair, and began to gasp
and choke hysterically.
"I know nothing about that," I said, callously; "but if you make a fool
of yourself in that way, you will have no time left to get out of his
reach. If you want to die, you had better faint now. However, I've
done with you;" and I turned toward the door.
"Don't go, Christabel, for the love of heaven don't leave me. I can't
think for myself. Oh, don't leave me," she cried. "What shall I do?"
"As he's your husband I should think you ought to stay and meet him.
This was sent off from the railway station, you see, and I find his
train reaches here just before nine. He'll just be in time for the
ceremony to-night."
"Oh, don't, don't, don't," she wailed. "Don't mock me like that.
Don't be so hard. Help me. Do, do! I tell you, he'll kill me. I
know he will. He tried to once before. You don't want to see me
murdered. You can't. Oh Christabel, dear Christabel, say what I had
better do."
"If you'll be sensible, I'll help you. You can get away without the
least difficulty. Luckily your trunks are all packed, and as the mail
for Breslau and Berlin leaves at half-past eight, you can be away
before his train arrives. But you must be quick. You have only half
an hour, and had better get your luggage away at once with Ernestine."
"How clever you are," she cried; and forthwith began to finish her
dressing with feverish haste, her one thought now to fly.
I called up Ernestine, who started on seeing me as though I were a
ghost. I explained that urgent reasons had caused her mistress to
change her plans; and before Madame d'Artelle had finished dressing,
the baggage was on its way to the station.
"What will you do about things here, Henriette?"
"I don't know. I don't care. In face of this I can do nothing."
"Count Karl will be disappointed and his brother angry."
"My life is in danger, would you have me think of anything else?
Mother of Heaven, do you think I will be murdered to please a hundred
counts?"
"Some one must see to things."
"Let me only get away and I care for nothing else." This was precisely
the mood I desired her to be in. She was literally fear-possessed, and
flight had become the one all-absorbing passionate desire.
I said no more until we were in the fly hurrying to the station. I
meant to see the last of her.
"What of to-night's business--Count Karl?"
"I care nothing. The carriage will come for me and can go away again.
I value my life. Holy Virgin, how slow the cab goes. We shall miss
the train; I know we shall. And then?" her fear passed beyond words,
and the sentence remained unfinished. "If he finds and kills me, my
death will be at your door. You have brought him here."
"Why are you so afraid of him? He may be only coming to make peace
with you and come to an understanding."
"Peace? The peace a tiger makes with a lamb. I know him."
She did not quite fit my idea of a lamb--except in her terror, perhaps;
and about that there could be no mistake.
"Shall you come back to Pesth?" I asked.
"Am I insane, do you mean, when he knows the very name I have here?
"What about the servants, then? Paying them, I mean?"
"Let them go to Count Gustav. Thank heaven, here is the station," she
cried, and the instant the vehicle stopped she got out and asked
excitedly for the mail to Berlin.
There were some five minutes to spare, but she had bundled Ernestine
into the carriage and was following when I stopped her.
"One question, Henriette? How is it that as I was out of the way the
ceremony fixed for to-night did not take place earlier in the day?
"Don't stop me, the train may start. He could not be induced to get
drunk enough; that's all." She said it almost viciously as she
scrambled into the carriage.
I waited until the train started and then drove back to the house. I
had to settle matters there with the servants. It would not suit my
plans for them to go to Count Gustav with the story of this hurried
flight.
I took Peter into the salon.
"You are a man of discretion, and your mistress and I both rely upon
you, Peter. You know that Madame was contemplating a journey and at
the last moment her plans have been hurried by news which I brought
her."
"It is not for us servants to ask what our employers do, miss," he
said, very respectfully. Part of the respect may have been due to the
fact that I had laid some notes and gold on the table.
"The house will be shut up for a month, Peter; and all the servants
except yourself, will leave. And they will leave to-night. You
understand--to-night. I trust you to see to this. Go and find out
what wages are due. This money is to pay them double that amount. I
will settle with you afterwards. I do not wish them to know I am in
the house."
He scented more reward, and went off with the important air of a
major-domo; and on his return I gave him the necessary money.
"I shall pay you what is due to you, Peter, and give you three months'
wages in addition. You will see the house locked up to-night and send
the keys to me to this address, and let me know where I can write to
you. But you can take another situation at once if you wish;" and I
gave him the address of the first house I had taken.
That I was able to think of all these small details at such a time has
often been a cause of some surprise--and I think of satisfaction. I
have always rather prided myself upon my capacity to concentrate my
thoughts upon the matter of the moment: to think in compartments, so to
speak: and to throw myself thoroughly into the part which I was playing
for the time. I was just as cool and collected in all this as though
the settlement of the servants' wages was the only thing I had then to
do or think of.
"I think that is all, Peter; I am leaving directly. I have a carriage
coming for me; and when I go, you will see that none of the other
servants are about."
"The servants are already upstairs packing their things, miss," he
replied. "I will watch for the carriage and let you know."
When he left me, I walked up and down the room in busy thought. So far
as I could see, my preparations were now complete. Count Gustav
believed I had left the city; I had frightened Madame d'Artelle away; I
had cut off the chance of his discovering her absence; and the only
risk of such discovery would be at the moment when he brought Karl to
the carriage.
There would not be much risk then, if I did not give myself away. I
recalled Madame's words about Karl--"He could not be induced to get
drunk enough," for the matter to go through earlier in the day. He was
thus to be drugged now; and when he joined me, would be too stupefied
to recognize me.
Then a question occurred. What would Count Gustav do as soon as he
thought his brother had gone? Had he planned a marriage ceremony
similar to the farce he had played with Gareth? If so, did he mean to
be present at it to make sure his plan succeeded? Would he enter the
carriage with Karl to drive to the house? Or would he be content to
trust the work to the man he might hit upon to play the part of priest?
Wait--would it be a real priest; and so was it a real marriage he
contemplated? And I was puzzling myself with little problems of the
kind, when Peter came to say the carriage was waiting.
Leaving all these difficulties to be solved as they arose, I arranged
my thick veil and throwing the cloak over my shoulders, hurried out. A
footman stood by the carriage door, and I was glad I had thought to put
the veil on before leaving the house.
He touched his hat, closed the door, climbed to the box, and we started
at a smart pace. For good or ill I was now committed to the matter,
and there was no drawing back.
Nor had I any thought or wish except to go through with it. My heart
was beating more rapidly than usual, and I was excited; but not
frightened. On the contrary, I was full of confidence, full of belief
that I was doing the right thing, let the risk to myself be what it
might; and convinced that I was taking not only the surest but the
shortest road to the end I had in view.
On one thing I was resolved. Count Gustav must not recognize me. That
was all in all to me at that moment. If he did, I saw clearly the use
he could make of that knowledge.
Not only could he blacken my reputation by saying I had run away with
Karl; but he could also use the fact with telling force against Karl
himself--that he had married the daughter of Colonel von Dreschler, the
murderer of Count Stephen.
Such a thing would suit his plans far better than the complication with
Madame d'Artelle, a mere adventuress, with whom no marriage was legally
possible. If he but knew it, I was thus playing right into his hands.
But then he did not, and should not know it, until it was too late to
be of use to him. He would spread about the story of Karl's marriage
to Madame d'Artelle, only to find that she was on her way hot speed to
Berlin at the very time.
And when the time came for the truth to be told--well, I had my plans
already laid for his own exposure; and they would keep him busy
defending himself.
The carriage rattled through the streets, covering quickly the short
distance to the rendezvous in the Radialstrasse; and when it drew up I
peered out eagerly through the closed window, and then saw that which
gave me a profound surprise.
A tall man sauntered past the carriage, scrutinizing it with great
earnestness; and as the light from one of the lamps shone on his face,
I recognized Colonel Katona.
What could be the meaning of his presence at such a time? Was it more
than coincidence? It could not be that. He was a recluse, and rarely
if ever left his house to walk in the city. Why should he choose such
a night, and such a time, and above all such a place?
I shrank back into the corner of my seat perplexed and anxious--seeking
eagerly but vainly for some reason for this most unexpected
development. As I sat thus waiting, I saw him presently pass again,
retracing his steps, and scrutinizing the carriage as closely as
before. This time he came nearer to the window and tried to peer
inside.
A minute afterwards I heard a name called in a brief sharp tone of
authority; the footman jumped from the box and opened the door, and I
squeezed myself as far from it as possible, as Count Gustav came up,
his arm through that of Karl, who was very unsteady and walked with
staggering lurching steps.
It was easy to see that if Karl was helpless with liquor, his brother
was both pale and agitated. His face was very set; and as he
approached, I noticed him glance sharply about him twice--the second
time with a start of what I read to be satisfaction.
He made no attempt to enter the carriage, much to my relief: and not a
word was spoken by any of us beyond a few guttural incoherencies by
Karl, as with his brother's help he stumbled into the carriage and sat
lolling fatuously, his breathing stertorous and heavy with the drink.
The door was slammed, the footman sprang up, and as the carriage
wheeled round I saw Colonel Katona again. This time he came out of the
gloom and spoke to Count Gustav.
I had no time to see more; but the list of surprises was not completed
yet.
We had not driven a hundred yards before Karl sat up, seemed to shake
off his stupor, and laughed lazily.
"Well, Henriette, here we are--off at last. But I wonder what in the
devil's name is going to happen next?"
He was neither drunk nor drugged, then; but merely acting. I almost
cried out in my astonishment and relief.
But what did it all mean?