ESCAPE
Andrew shortened his sword at this time, for, since he could not
doubt that De Bois-Vallée intended treachery, he meant to slay him at
the first moment that treachery became apparent; meant to use the
sword as a dagger and, striking down swiftly under the other's left
shoulder, end him. That there should be no doubt of his intention, and
because his action might not be perceptible in the obscurity around
them, he whispered in De Bois-Vallée's ear a word to that effect.
Took, too, his hand and placed it against his own where it grasped the
blade low down, and ran that hand along it till it touched the point.
"He must know full well now," thought Andrew to himself, "what awaits
him if he plays me false."
Then, as the other withdrew his own hand from the blade, they went on
again.
By this time they were at the foot of the steps leading up to the
garret; the garret where Andrew had lain a prisoner for so many days.
Behind him, encouraged now and again by a whispered word, and, in
Marion Wyatt's case, by a gentle touch or so from his great hand, the
women came--she next to him, Clemence behind.
As for the former, it seemed that the time had come when she could
persevere no more. Her face was almost invisible, but her actions and
her drooping attitude showed Andrew, as he peered through the darkness
at her, that she could struggle little longer. Already she leant
half-fainting, half in a stupor, on the woman, Clemence--it
seemed that there was scarce any life or strength left in her.
"Courage, courage!" He whispered to the girl. "Courage. He must know
some way out--there must be some secret doorway here leading to
hidden stairs behind. Courage, I say. Lean on me. See, he mounts the
stairs--once there he shows us the way, or dies."
But Marion could not answer now--her breath came in terrible gasps
from her, she seemed choking, while at the same time almost incapable
of further motion, although still she forced one foot after the other
as, supported by Clemence, they stood at the bottom of the garret
ladder. As for her, Clemence, she appeared to have superhuman
strength; her arms around the tottering woman she helped her to mount
those steps up which all went following De Bois-Vallée, whose almost
indistinct figure crept forward in front of them. And now they stood
within the garret itself, when Andrew, putting out his hand, laid it
on the other man's shoulder.
"Go not so fast," he whispered in his ear. "The darkness is intense.
We must not lose you. And," tightening his grasp on De Bois-Vallée's
sleeve, "direct not your steps this way. The oubliette is here. Is it
to that you lead us?"
From the man whom his hand clutched there came no word, only Andrew
heard him catch his breath suddenly with a hoarse gasp; from the woman
behind it seemed to him as though there came once more that low,
gurgling laugh he had before remarked. Then he heard her whisper in
his ear. "'Tis that--'tis that! Beware of----"
Her words were drowned by another roar from below--something fresh had
occurred. What was it?
Their ears told them--sight was unnecessary, though that too aided
them ere long.
They could hear the trampling of the men beneath, hear huge weighty
things being thrown down in the hall, which fell with a sound
resembling the fall of tons of lead, and they knew--Andrew and
Clemence--perhaps, too, De Bois-Vallée--that they were trees being
brought in and cast on the hall as fuel; they heard orders being
given. Orders for powder-flasks and horns to be ignited beneath
kindlings--another order that none should rush up the stairs to seek
for the wolf.
"It is enough that he is here," a fierce, strident voice cried. "We
know it. We will burn him in his hole as we burnt the bear last year.
Pray God we see him rush out in flames as Bruin rushed."
And, even above the voice, pealed that of the boy singing:
"_Lorraine, Lorraine, ma douce patrie_."
From Marion there came at this added horror a shriek, long, wailing,
piteous to hear, the shriek of one in mortal dread; Andrew's ears
caught once again a hoarse whisper from Clemence, and the words, "this
is death. So best!" In his grasp he felt the man whom he held shaking
with terror, and then, suddenly, as he turned to speak another word of
encouragement to Marion, he knew that De Bois-Vallée had escaped him
Either in his terror, or in the quickly acquired knowledge that, as
Andrew so turned, the grasp relaxed somewhat, he shook himself free.
He was gone! Escaped! There was nothing before Andrew but empty
darkness! His sword told him that, as he plunged it furiously into the
empty space in all directions, except where the women were.
"He has escaped," he whispered to Clemente. "Escaped, and left us
here. Has reached the exit, and left us to die."
"Escaped?" she screamed. "Escaped? How? How? How?"
Yet in another moment it seemed as if her rage at this was swallowed
up by some new idea.
"If he is gone," she said, "why let them destroy the house? And--surely
if they know women are in it--they will spare us. She," and the woman
cast her eyes upon the almost insensible form of Marion, "cannot descend
to them. I will go myself."
"Nay, nay," said Andrew, "it will be useless. They will not believe.
Will think 'tis but a ruse to save him and his house. 'Twill not
avail."
Also he remembered, though he could not say so to her, that Jean and
Laurent had hinted, even if they had not said so in as many words,
that this woman was as unpopular in all the country round as the owner
of Bois-le-Vaux himself, was regarded as an evil creature of his. What
likelihood, therefore, that they would desist from glutting the
passions now aroused in their breasts, or from their determination to
destroy the house, should she show herself?
"I will come with you," he said a moment later, seeing that nothing
could turn her from this newly arrived at determination. "There may be
none who know me, and can thereby stay their comrades' hands, but, at
least, one glance will show that I am not he. There is no resemblance
betwixt us. We will go together."
"No! no! no!" she said, stopping in the descent she had already
commenced on the stairs. "Man! are you mad? If there are none who know
you they will deem, must deem, you his friend, accomplice. And," she
went on, almost imperiously, "I bid you stay--for her sake," pointing
to Marion as she spoke. "If a bullet find your heart or brain, what of
her? She will be burnt to a cinder in this house."
It was true! He must not leave her; never leave her now. Death had
threatened them, the end was very near--another hour and the mansion
would be in flames; his place was by her side. Either in life or
death! Henceforth, come what might--safety or destruction--they must
find it together.
Even as he recognized that this was so, Clemence was gone, had
descended the upper flight of stairs, was about to descend the lower.
And as he, peering over once more, looked down, he knew the awful risk
to which the woman had exposed herself.
Up from the hall floor, as they saw her above, came a shout of many
voices. In an instant the crack of half a dozen muskets came, too,
also shrieks and ribald cries.
"The witch, Clemence. The hell-cat. The beldam. His mother's rival.
The curse of all her days. At her! At her! Tear her to pieces."
"Nay!" roared out that harsh, strident voice he had heard before.
"Nay. Not so. And come you back," its owner cried to three others who
had already begun to rush up the stairs, as though to seize on her.
"Come back, I say. Nor fire on her more. There is a better way. He is
here and she is with him. Let them burn together!"
The shots had missed her--every one!--though Andrew, watching, had
seen her stagger back as they struck the stairs and the wall around
her; now she turned and retraced her steps to where he stood.
"Are you wounded?" he gasped when she had rejoined him, noticing that
her face was bloodless, white as that of a corpse--that the great
pendulous lips--in years gone by, doubtless, so full and ruddy--shook
and trembled.
"No," she said, "unharmed. Yet doomed. Doomed! Still, there is a
chance. If I go back to them, fling my body from this landing to the
stone floor below, they may cease."
"Are you also mad?" he asked hoarsely; "Are you mad? You think I shall
permit that?"
"'Tis the only way to stop them."
"Bah!" Andrew exclaimed. "Nothing will stop them. You forget. They
know he is here. Also they cannot know of any secret escape--even
though there be one."
Her hands fell in despair by her side, her eyes rolled piteously, she
recognized that it was as he had said. It was the wolf they sought
first and chiefly--her next.
"We are lost!" she muttered. "Lost! Lost!"
It was impossible to doubt that such was the case.
Looking over once more, down into that great well beneath them, he
saw that the floor was piled the height of a man's head with saplings
and trees, both green and dry, and with kindlings formed from
wrenched-down tapestry, broken chairs and stools and other things,
chopped up small; even the great table itself was being hacked into
firewood. All hope was gone!
Likewise, he saw three men standing close together, the palms of two
of them placed side by side, so as to form a bowl, while the third
emptied all their powder-horns into those hands; after which they
placed the heap beneath the accumulated fuel. No need to doubt that
the fire would blaze fiercely! Then one strode forward--the man with
the great raucous voice--and said some words of gloating, while, as he
did so, he bent his knees and stooped down, and peered into the mass
collected together, and nodded approbation of the heap of powder
beneath. Then rose and stood back some yards and drew a great pistol
from his belt.
Drew it, gave one look to the priming and his flint--fired, and
ignited the heap. And as the powder leapt up a mass of green and
yellow flames, as the kindlings and the logs caught, even as the
report rang through the house of the De Bois-Vallées, so, too, there
rang cheer after cheer, howl after howl, as though hell itself had let
loose all its fiends. Also they danced and capered round and round
that pyre, Andrew seeing two men clasp hands and waists and execute a
grim fantastic dance about the hall! They stirred, too, with pikes and
halberds wrenched from off the walls, the logs; some even thrust the
swords they carried into the flames to make the fire burn more
fiercely. Then, all stood away from the great open doorway, from which
the door had long since been torn, so that the breeze of morning--for
the day was nigh at hand--might blow in and fan those flames. The
great door itself as well was lifted up upon their shoulders, carried
in, and flung upon them.
"To the leads! To the leads!" Clemence muttered. "To the leads. Better
die there than here, as we must if we stay longer. See! See!" and she
pointed down. "The lower stairs are on fire; already the way--that
way--is cut off. We are trapped. To the leads."
"Ay," said Andrew, "to the leads. After that--death, unless some
portions of the house stand firm. How is it with her?"
"She is insensible--not dead. Not yet."
"Not yet, I pray God. Give her to me. Come--if we can find the opening
to the roof the air may revive her." Whereon, stooping down, he lifted
the girl once more to his shoulder.
267
"Go carefully," he said to Clemence, "carefully--beware the oubliette.
For God's sake, avoid that."
Thus they returned to the garret, groping their way in the dense
blackness.
"Give me your hand," she answered, putting out her own and finding
his. "I have been here in the dark before, and know where the exit is.
Now come."
And, following her, with his burden clasped to his breast with one
arm, he let her guide him slowly and step by step--each one made sure
of ere another was taken--through the darkness and the ever-increasing
atmosphere of suffocation, towards where stood the ladder leading to
the roof.
And so, feeling their way inch by inch, Clemence first, with Andrew
following, he bearing Marion in his arms, and having at the same time
to keep touch with the former and also to carry his drawn sword--since
he knew not if, even now, De Bois-Vallée might not be lurking
somewhere close by in that dark garret, ready to thrust his own weapon
through him, or, indeed, through all of them--they reached shortly the
ladder that led to the roof. And, then, a few moments more and they
had emerged on to the leads.
The rain, that had been falling at intervals (though sometimes it had
been clear moonlight) since the wintry sun had set amidst a bank of
deep blood-coloured clouds, backed up and surrounded by still deeper
leaden ones, had ceased now--up from the south-west, as they gained
the roof, there blew a soft, warm breeze that was as the breath of
heaven to them after the reeking interior from which they had escaped.
Yet--escaped for how long, Andrew and Clemence wondered inwardly? For
how long? How long would it be ere that portion of the house on which
they stood might be alight, and, thus destroyed, engulf them below?
Below, where it was easy enough to see that already the house was in
flames--and whence there reached their nostrils the fumes of smoke.
Already, too, by gazing over the parapet Andrew could see the red
tongues of fire shooting out from windows, and volumes of dun-coloured
smoke emerging. Could hear, also, those windows bursting and the sound
of rent glass as it fell on the stones of the courtyard.
Heard, too, and saw other things ere an hour had elapsed--an hour in
which Clemence had sat on the ladder giving to the roof, with Marion
lying in her arms. For, at the end of that hour, a terrible roar and
rending sound reached his ears from beneath, and, looking once more
over the parapet, he saw the left side of the house rent open; knew
that a portion of one of the wings had fallen inwards. The north wing,
and that the one which joined the part of the house above which they
all were.