THE CREATURES OF PERRAULT
Half paralysed as were the physical senses, there was a magic in the
words. Involuntarily, scarcely knowing what I did, I helped to unloose
the horses. I saw others climb into their saddles; with a little
friendly help I got into mine.
In the growing light of the dawn, we started at a gentle pace towards
the old and quaint and many-gabled city. Yet it was still too dark to
see who precisely was of our company. We came to the bridge, and
halted while Fitz gave the password at the gate. Suspicious eyes were
cast upon him, but they let us through.
At the farther gate Fitz gave the password again. There was a little
delay, in the course of which Fitz spoke in a jovial manner with the
corporal of infantry. Finally another gold piece changed owners, and
then we were allowed to pass on to the open country.
Without having to fire a shot, we had got clear of the city. As yet I
knew nothing of what had happened during the hours of my suspense, but
I was able to make out in the dim light that two of another sex had
augmented our company. One riding by the side of Fitz had a familiar
outline; the other, an unknown lady, was accommodated somewhat
insecurely in front of the saddle of Joseph Jocelyn De Vere.
As we turned towards the mountain road there came the booming of a gun
across the turbulent water of the Maravina.
"They are awake at last," said a gruff voice at my elbow. The Chief
Constable seemed very weary and very grim.
Hard and straight we rode through the comparatively easy country to the
inn at the head of the pass of Ryhgo. We had to be content with a
change of horses here; there was not time to allow of anything else
beyond a cup of spiced wine.
In broad daylight the pass of Ryhgo was shorn of many of its terrors.
But as we rode above the lake the path was so narrow and its turns so
sharp that care was still necessary. Happily the wind was now dead.
Even now I was hardly in a state to realise what had occurred. The
strain upon my mind was still acute; my faculties seemed to have got
out of control.
"We had wonderful luck." The voice of the Chief Constable sounded
remote and meaningless. "It was a devil of a climb up that rock, and
I'll lay odds that we should never have got to the top at all, if Fitz
hadn't remembered a secret stairway that led right into the heart of
the place. Either the burghers of Blaenau had forgotten all about it
or they didn't know of its existence. But Fitz remembered it all right
as soon as he happened to see the hole in the rock. When we got in, it
was as black as the tomb, except for Fitz's lantern.
"It was a poisonous journey up an interminable flight of winding stone
steps. It took us quite an hour to come to the end. And then we found
ourselves confronted by a door of solid oak, which was three parts
rotten. It took us another hour to cut through that, and Fitz's
lantern went out and we had to keep striking matches. I shall never
forget that hour in the dark until my dying day. And when we got
through that infernal door at last, where do you suppose we found
ourselves?"
"I cannot say," I said, dreamily, with a vague eye upon the black
waters of the lake below.
"Behind the tapestry of the King's bedroom. A marvellous piece of
luck! It is a strange providence that watches over some things. And
there we waited in the darkness, with our hands on our weapons, while
Fitz made his way to the Princess, and he brought her and her woman to
us, and we got clear away without disturbing a soul."
"A wonderful and an incredible story!"
I began to have a fear that I might pitch from my horse. But we got
through the fell pass of Ryhgo at last, and by three o'clock that
afternoon were in the presence of food and shelter and security in the
hostelry a mile beyond the frontier. Thereupon a mute prayer passed up
to heaven from the still shuddering soul of a married man, a father of
a family, and a county member.
The unknown lady whom Jodey had borne so gallantly upon his saddle
through the perilous mountain passes was none other than the Countess
Etta von Zweidelheim, that lover of Schubert, that charming interpreter
of Schumann who had made herself responsible for the statement that our
memorable evening at the Embassy was "petter than Offenbach."
Even when she was lifted cold, hungry and desperately fatigued from the
saddle of her cavalier, she was inclined to laugh; and we were able to
raise among us a sort of hollow echo of her mirth when we observed the
solemnity with which my relation by marriage escorted her to the stove
and chafed her bloodless hands to restore the circulation.
The somewhat formal, perhaps slightly embarrassed nature of our
laughter did not fail, even in these circumstances, of its customary
appeal to her Royal Highness. Her own, however, unloosed a thousand
memories which I shall carry to the grave, and perhaps beyond.
"Aha, _les Anglais_!" There was a maternal indulgence in the gaunt
eyes. "_Très bons enfants!_" Her voice was low, canorous, quaintly
caressing. "_Très bons enfants!_"
Suddenly she turned and gave both her hands to me. Lightly my lips
touched the frozen fingers. For an instant my eyes were upon the
strange pallor of her face; and then they met in a kind of challenge
the sunken brilliancy which gave it life.
"The creatures of Perrault, ma'am," I said, rather hysterically.
THE END
LONDON: HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 1912.