In the hope that an opportunity would soon come, and to be ready at any
moment, one of Kate's first acts that morning was to write plainly a few
words on a sheet of paper, begging Becky to post her letter, and
inclosing it with the note in another envelope, which she directed to
the woman herself. This she placed in the fold of her dress, where she
could draw it out directly, and waited.
The housekeeper was not long before she made her appearance with the
breakfast tray, and was respectful in the extreme.
"Master thought, ma'am, that perhaps you might like your breakfast alone
this morning, but he hopes to see you at lunch. He is so unwell that he
is not going out this morning."
"Staying to watch for fear I should escape," thought Kate, and a nervous
shiver ran through her; but rest seemed to have given her mental
strength, and after breakfast she felt disposed to ridicule the idea of
her being kept there against her will. "It must be possible to get
away," she thought. It only wanted nerve and determination, for there
was but the wall of the house between her and safety.
Soon after breakfast the housekeeper appeared again, to remove the
breakfast things.
"Would you mind me coming to tidy up your room, ma'am, while you are
here, or would you prefer my waiting till you go down?"
"Do it now," said Kate, quietly; and to avoid being spoken to, she took
up a book and held it as if she were reading. But all the time she was
noting everything, with her senses on the alert, and the next minute her
heart began to throb wildly, for she saw the woman go to the door, pass
out the tray, and it was evident that some order was given.
Becky was there, and Kate sat trembling, her excitement increasing when
the next minute there was a light tap at the door, and Becky was
admitted to assist in rearranging the room.
This went on for about a quarter of an hour, with Becky carefully
minding not to glance at the prisoner, who, with head bent, watched her
every movement, on the hope of her being left alone for a few minutes.
But as the mother was always near at hand, the opportunity did not come;
and at last, with the envelope doubled in her hand, Kate began to feel
that she might give up this time, and would have to wait till she could
see the woman passing her room.
The disappointment was terrible, and Kate's heart sank in her despair as
the housekeeper suddenly said:
"There, that will do--get on downstairs."
She stood back for her daughter to pass her, and then followed to the
door, where a whispered conversation ensued.
"What? Left the brush?"
"Yes; other side of the room."
"Be quick, then. Fetch it out."
The housekeeper was passing through the door as she spoke, and Becky
reappeared, to cross the room hurriedly, with her face lighting up as
she gave the prisoner a meaning look, drew something from her bosom, and
thrust it into Kate's hand, and took the note offered to her.
"Now, Becky!" came from outside.
The woman darted to the door.
"Well?"
"Can't find it. Tain't there."
The door closed, and Kate was once more alone, to eagerly examine the
tiny packet handed to her.
It was square, about an inch across, roughly tied up with black worsted,
and proved to be a sheet of note paper, doubled up small, and containing
the words, written in an execrable hand:
"You run away. Come down at twelve o'clock, and I'll let you out threw
the airy."
Letter rarely contained such hope as this, and the receiver, as she sat
there, with her pulses bounding in her excitement, saw no further
difficulty. Her lonely position in London, the want of friends to whom
she could flee, the awkward hour of the night--these all seemed to be
trifles compared to the great gain, for in a few hours she would be
free.
She carefully destroyed the note, burning it in the fireplace, and then
sat thinking, after opening and gazing out of the window, to realise how
true Garstang's words had been. But they were of no consequence now,
for the way of escape was open, and she repented bitterly that she had
dispatched her letter to Jenny. Then once more a feeling akin to shame
made her flush, as she thought of Leigh and what he would feel on
hearing the letter read by his sister.
The day passed slowly on. A message came, asking if she would come down
to lunch, and she refused. Later on came another message, almost a
command, that she would be in her usual place at dinner, and to this she
made no reply, for none seemed needed; but she determined that she would
not stir from her room.
Then more and more slowly the time glided on, till it was as if night
would never come.
But she made her preparations, so as to be ready when midnight did
arrive. They were simple enough, and consisted in placing, bonnet,
mantle, and the fewest necessaries. Her plans were far more difficult:
where to go?
She sat and thought of every friend in turn, but there was a difficulty
in the way in each case; and in spite of trying hard to avoid it, as the
last resource, she seemed to be driven to take refuge with Jenny Leigh;
and in deciding finally upon this step she forced herself to ignore the
thought of her brother, while feeling exhilarated by the thought that
the course pursued would be the one most likely to throw Garstang off
her track, for Northwood would be the last place he would credit her
with fleeing to.
Her head grew clearer now, as her hope of escape brightened, and the
plans appeared easier and easier, and the way more clear.
For it was so simple. Garstang and the housekeeper would by that time
be asleep, and all she would have to do would be to steal silently down
in the darkness to where Becky would be waiting for her. She would take
her into the basement, and she would be free. If she could persuade
her, she would take the poor creature with her. She would be a
companion and protection, and rob her night journey of its strange
appearance.
The rest seemed to be mere trifles. She would walk for some distance,
and then take a cab to the railway terminus at London Bridge, and wait
till the earliest morning train started. The officials might think it
strange, but she could take refuge in the waiting room.
And now, feeling satisfied that her ideas were correct, she thought of
her letter to Jenny. This would only be received just before her
arrival, but it would have prepared her, and all would be well. The
only dread that she had now was that she might encounter anyone from the
Manor House at the station. On the way, the station fly would hide her
from the curious gaze, but the thought made her carefully place a veil
ready for use.
Then came a kind of reaction; was it not madness to go to Northwood?
Her uncle would soon know, and as soon as he did, he would insist upon
her going back, and then--
Kate reached no farther into the future, for there was a knock at the
door, and the housekeeper appeared, smiling at her, and handed her a
note.
She saw at a glance that it was in Garstang's handwriting, and she
refused to take it, whereupon the woman placed it upon the table, close
to her elbow, and left the room.
For quite half an hour, Kate sat there determined not to open the
letter, and trying hard not even to look at it; but human nature is
weak, and unable to control the desire to know its contents, and
excusing herself on the plea that perhaps it might have some bearing
upon her plans for that night--a bearing which would force her to alter
them--she took it up, opened it, and then sat gazing at it in despair.
It was a large envelope, and the first thing which fell from it was her
letter to Jenny, apparently unopened, but crumpled and soiled as if it
had been held in a hot and dirty hand; while the other portion of the
contents of the envelope was a letter from Garstang, calling her foolish
and childish and asking her if she thought his threats so vain and empty
that he had not taken precautions against her trying such a feeble plan
as that.
"I can not be angry with you," he concluded, "I love you too well; but I
do implore you, for your sake as well as my own, to act sensibly, and
cease forcing me to carry on a course which degrades us both. Come,
dearest, be wise; act like a woman should under the circumstances. You
know well how I worship you. Show me in return some little pity, and
let me have its first fruits in your presence at the dinner-table this
evening. I promise you that you shall have no cause to regret coming
down. My treatment shall be full of the most chivalrous respect, and I
will wait as long as you wish, if only you will give me your word to be
my wife."
Was there any other way of sending the letter? Could she cast it from
the window, in the hope of its being picked up and posted? She feared
not, and passed the weary minutes thinking that she must give it up.
But she roused herself after a time. The mother had evidently taken the
letter from Becky, and handed it to Garstang; but the flight was Becky's
own proposal, and now, after getting into trouble as she would have done
over the letter, she would be the more likely to join in the flight.
Dinner was announced, but she refused to go down, and after partaking of
what was sent up, she waited and waited till bed-time was approaching,
giving the housekeeper cause to think from her actions that she was
going to bed, and fastening her door loudly as the woman left the room
after saying good-night.
And now came the most crucial time. She knew from old experience what
Garstang's habits were. He would read for about half an hour after the
housekeeper had locked and barred the front door; and then go up to his
room, which was in the front, upon the second floor; and she stood by
the door, listening through the long leaden minutes for the sharp sound
of the bolts and the rattle of bar and chain. Her brow was throbbing,
and her hands felt damp in the palms with the dread she felt of some
fresh development of Garstang's persecution, and she would have given
anything to have unbolted and opened her door, so as to stand in the
darkness and watch, but shivered with fear at the very thought.
At last, plainly heard, came the familiar sounds, and now she pictured
what would follow--the extinguishing of the staircase and hall lights,
as the housekeeper and her child went up to bed in the attic, and the
place left in darkness, save where a faint bar of rays came from beneath
the library door. Half an hour later that door would be opened, and
Garstang would pass up. Then there would be nearly an hour to wait
before she dared to steal away.
The agony and suspense now became so unbearable that Kate felt that she
must do something or she would go mad; and at last she softly threw back
the bolt, opened the door, and looked out.
All was dark, and after listening intently, she glided out inch by inch
till she reached the balustrade and peered down into the hall.
Exactly as she had pictured, there were a few faint rays from the
library door, and just heard there was the smothered sound of a cough.
She stole back to listen, but first closed and bolted the door hastily,
put on bonnet, veil, and mantle, and then put out the candles burning
upon her dressing-table.
This done, she crept back to the door and stood there, waiting to hear
some sound, or to see the gleam of a candle when Garstang went up, but
she waited in vain.
The half-hour must have long passed, and she was fain to confess that
since her coming she had never once heard him go up to bed. The thick
carpets, the position of her door, would dull sound and hide the light
passing along the landing, and when another half-hour had passed she
mustered up sufficient courage to once more slip the bolt.
It glided back silently, but the hinges gave a faint crack as she opened
them, and she then stood fast, with her heart beating violently, ready
to fling the door to and fasten it again. But all was still, and at
last once more, inch by inch, she crept out silently till she was able
to gaze down into the hall.
The breath she drew came more freely now, for the faint bar of light
from the library was no longer there, and in the utter silence of the
place she knew that the door must be wide open, and the fire nearly
extinct, for all at once there was the faint tinkling sound of dying
cinders falling together.
He must have gone up to bed.
For a few moments Kate Wilton felt ready to hurry down the stairs, but
she checked the desire. It was not the appointed time, and she stole
back, closed the door, and forced herself to sit down and wait Becky had
said twelve o'clock, and it would be folly to go down earlier.
Never had the place seemed so silent before. The distant roll of a cab
sounded faint in the extreme, and it was as if the great city was for
the time being dead. And now her heart sank again at the thought of her
venture. She was going to plunge into the silence and darkness of the
streets, so it seemed to her then; and the idea was so fraught with fear
that she felt she must resign herself to her fate, for she dared not.
The faint striking of a clock sent a thrill through her, and once more
she felt inspired with the courage to make the attempt. Becky would
have stolen down, and be waiting, and perhaps after the trouble of the
letter business be quite ready to go with her. "Yes, she must go," she
said; and now, with every nerve drawn to its highest pitch of tension,
she opened the door, and stood for a few moments listening.
All was perfectly still, and hesitating no longer, she walked silently
and swiftly to the staircase, caught at the hand-rail, and began to
descend, her dress making a faint rustling as it passed over the thick
carpet.
Her goal was the door leading to the kitchen stairs, and the only dread
she had now was that she might in the darkness touch one of the hall
chairs, and make it scrape on the polished floor; but she recalled where
each stood, and after a momentary pause, feeling convinced that she
could make straight for the spot, she went on down into the darkness,
reached the mat, and then found that there was a faint, dawn-like gleam
coming from the fan-light over the door.
Then her heart seemed to stand still, for just before her there was
something shadowy and dark.
"One of the statues," she thought for the moment, and then turned to
flee, but stopped.
"Becky," she whispered, and a hand touched her arm.