THE FLIGHT OF THE DUCHESS
When the emissary of Rose Cameron had gone, the young Duchess of
Hereward, in a whirlwind of long-repressed excitement, slammed, locked
and bolted all the doors leading from her apartments into the hall, and
then fled into her dressing-room and cast herself head long down upon the
floor in the collapse of utter, infinite despair--despair in all its
depth of darkness, without its benumbing calmness!
Her soul was shaken by a tempest of warring passions! Amazement,
indignation, grief, horror, raged through her agonized bosom!
It was well that no human eye beheld her in this deep degradation of woe!
For in the madness of her anguish, she rolled on the floor, and tore the
clothing from her shoulders and the dark hair from her head! She uttered
such groans and cries as are seldom heard on this earth--such as perhaps
fill the murky atmosphere of hell. She impiously called on Heaven to
strike her dead as she lay! She was indeed on the very brink of raving
insanity.
There was but one thought that held her reason on its throne--the
necessity of immediate flight and escape--escape from the man whom she
had just vowed at the altar to love, honor, and obey until death--the man
whom she had worshiped as an archangel!
The man?--the fiend, rather!
What had she just now found him proved to be?
Yes _proved_ to be, beyond the merciful possibility of a saving
doubt!--proved to be by the most overwhelming and convicting testimony,
corroborated also by the evidence of her own eyes and ears, too long
discredited for his sake.
Her eyes had seen him lurking stealthily in the dark hall, near her
father's bedroom door, late on the night of that father's murder. She had
spoken to him, and at the sound of her voice he had shrunk silently out
of sight.
Yet she had discredited the evidence of her own eyes, and persuaded
herself that she had been the subject of an optical illusion.
Her ears had heard a part of his midnight conversation with his female
confederate under the balcony--had heard his prediction that something
would happen that night to prevent the marriage that he promised her
should never take place--a prediction so awfully fulfilled in the morning
by the discovery of the dead body of her murdered father! She had fainted
at the sound of his voice, uttering such treacherous and cruel words;
yet on her return to consciousness she had disbelieved the evidence of
her own ears, and convinced herself that she had been the victim of a
nightmare dream!
Yes! she had disallowed the direct evidence of her own senses rather
than believe such diabolical wickedness of her idol! But now the
evidence of her own eyes and ears was corroborated by the most
complete and convincing testimony--the conversation under the balcony,
as reported by Rose Cameron's messenger, corresponded exactly with the
conversation overheard by herself at the time and place it was said to
have occurred, but which she dismissed from her mind as an evil dream!
This corroborating testimony proved it to be an atrocious reality! And
the man to whom she had given her hand that morning was an accomplice
in the murder of her father! unintentionally perhaps, for the witness
testified to the horror he expressed on learning from his confederate
that a murder had been committed: "The old man squealed and we had to
squelch him!" How she shuddered at the memory of these horrible words!
But this man was not her husband, after all! Although a marriage ceremony
had been performed between them by a bishop, he was not her husband, but
the husband of Rose Cameron. She had overwhelming and convincing proof of
this also!
The letters written to Rose Cameron, calling her his dear wife, and
signing himself her devoted husband "Arondelle," were in the handwriting
of the Duke of Hereward! She could have sworn to that handwriting,
under any circumstances.
And the photograph shown as the likeness of Rose Cameron's husband, was a
duplicate of one in her own possession, given her by the duke himself.
And, above all, the certificate of marriage between them, signed by the
officiating clergyman and witnessed by the officers of the church, was
unquestionably genuine, regular, and legal!
No! there was not one merciful doubt to found a hope of his innocence
upon! It was amazing, stupefying, annihilating, but it was true. Her idol
was a fiend, glorious in personal beauty, diabolical in spirit, as the
fallen archangel Lucifer, Son of the Morning!
He was deeply, atrociously, insanely guilty!
Yes, insanely! for how could he have acted so recklessly, as well as so
criminally, if he had not been insane? Would he not have known that swift
discovery and disgrace were sure to follow the almost open commission
of such base crimes? And if no feeling of honor or conscience could have
deterred him, would not the fear of certain consequences have done so?
_His_ insanity was _her_ only rational theory of the case! But
his supposed insanity did not vindicate him to her pure and just mind.
For he was not an insane _man_ so much as an insane devil! He had
only been mad in his recklessness, not in his crimes.
Then quickly through her storm-tossed soul passed the thought that both
sacred and profane history recorded instances of crimes committed by
righteous and honorable men. Amazing truth! She remembered the piety and
the _sin_ of David, when he stole the wife of Uriah, and betrayed
that loyal servant and brave soldier to a treacherous and bloody death!
She remembered the loyalty and the _treason_ of that chivalrous
young Scottish prince who headed a fratricidal rebellion, in which his
father and his king was slain, and who, as James IV., lived a life of
remorse and penance, until, in his turn, he was slain on the fatal field
of Flodden. She thought of these, and other instances, in which it might
seem as if an angel and a devil lived together, animating one man's body.
This would, of course, produce inconsistency of conduct, insanity of
mind.
But among all the harrowing thoughts that hurried through her tortured
mind, one feeling was predominant--the necessity of instant flight. There
was no other cause for her to pursue. The bridal train was awaiting her
down stairs. Soon they would send to summon her again. How could she meet
them? What could she say to them? How could she ever look upon the face
of the Duke of Hereward and _live_?
She must fly at once. No, there was no time to write a note and leave it
pinned on her dressing-table cushion. Besides, what could she say in her
note? Nothing; or nothing that she would say.
She must go and make no sign. She forced herself to rise from the floor
and commence hurried preparations for immediate flight.
In all the tumult of her soul, some intuition guided her through her
hasty arrangements to take the most effectual means to elude pursuit and
baffle discovery.
She took off her handsome mourning dress of black silk and crape that she
had put on to travel in, and she packed it, with the black felt hat,
vail, sack and gloves that belonged to the suit, in one of her trunks,
which she carefully locked.
Then from some receptacle of her left-off colored dresses, she selected
a dark-gray silk suit, with sack, hat, vail and gloves to match. And in
that she dressed herself.
Then she reflected.
"They will think that I went away in my mourning dress, which they will
miss. If they describe me, they will describe a lady in deep mourning. If
any one comes in pursuit, they will look for a young woman in black,
and pass me by, because I shall wear gray and keep my vail down."
Then she concealed in her bosom all the cash she had in hand, being about
fifteen hundred pounds in Bank of England notes, which she had previously
drawn out for her own private uses during her bridal tour. This she
thought would go far to meet the unknown expenses of her future. She also
took her diamonds. She might have to sell them, she thought, for support.
Then, when she was quite ready, dressed in the dark gray suit, sack, hat,
vail and gloves, and with a small valise in her hand, she went into her
bath-room, and to the back door at the head of the private stairs leading
down to the little garden of roses that was her own favorite bower.
She watched for a few seconds, to be sure that no one was in sight, and
then she slipped swiftly down the stairs and crossed the garden to a
narrow back door, which she quickly opened and passed through, shutting
it after her. It closed with a spring and cut off her re-entrance there,
even if she had been disposed to turn back.
But she was not.
She glanced nervously up and down the lane at the back of the garden
wall, but saw no one there.
Then she walked rapidly away, and turned into a narrow street, keeping
her gray vail doubled over her face all the time.
She purposely lost herself in a labyrinth of narrow streets, getting
farther and farther from her home, before she ventured near a cab-stand.
At length she hailed a closed cab, engaged it, entered it, closed all
the blinds, and directed the driver to take her to the Brighton, Dover,
and South Coast Railway Station at London Bridge, and promised him a
half-sovereign if he would catch the next train.
Yes! after a few moments of rapid reflection, as to whither she would go,
she resolved to leave London by that very same tidal-train on which she
and her husband were to have commenced their bridal tour, for there, of
all places, she felt that she would be safest from pursuit; that, of all
directions, would be the last in which they would think of seeking her!
And while they should be waiting and watching for her at Elmhurst House,
she would be speeding towards the sea coast, and by the time they should
discover her flight, she would be on the Channel, _en voyage_ for
Calais.
Beyond this she had no settled plan of action. She did not know where she
would go, or what she should do, on reaching France.
She only longed, with breathless anxiety, to fly from England, from the
Duke of Hereward, and all the horrors connected with him. She felt that
she was not his wife, could never have been his wife, and that the
mockery of a marriage ceremony, which had been performed for them by the
Bishop of London that morning, at St. George's Hanover Square, had made
the duke a felon and not a husband!
If she should remain in England she might even be called upon, in the
course of events, to take a part in his prosecution. And guilty as she
believed him to be, she could not bring herself to do that!
No! she must fly from England and conceal herself on the Continent!
But where?
She knew not as yet!
Her mind was in a fever of excitement when she reached London Bridge.
She paid and discharged her cab, giving the driver the promised half
sovereign for catching the train.
Then, with her thick vail folded twice over her pale face, and her little
valise in her hand, she went into the station, made her way to the office
and bought a first-class ticket.
Then she went to the train, and stopping before one of the first
carriages called a guard to unlock the door and let her enter.
"Oh, you can't have a seat in this compartment, Miss," said a somewhat
garrulous old guard, coming up to her. "This whole carriage is reserved
for a wedding party--the Duke and Duchess of Hereward, as were married
this morning, and their graces' retinue, which they are expected to
arrive every minute, Miss. But you can have a seat in _this_ one,
Miss. It is every bit as good as the other," concluded the old man,
leading the way to a lady's carriage some yards in advance.
"Reserved for a wedding party--reserved for the Duke and Duchess of
Hereward and their retinue!"
How her heart fainted, almost unto death, with a new sense of infinite
disappointment and regret at what might have been and what was! Reserved
for the Duke and Duchess of Hereward! Ah, Heaven!
"Here you are, Miss!" said the guard, opening the door of an empty
carriage.
"How long will it be before the train starts?" inquired the fugitive in
a low voice.
The guard looked at his big silver watch and answered:
"Time'll be up in three minutes, Miss."
"But if the--the--wedding party should not arrive before that?"
hesitatingly inquired Salome.
"Train starts all the same, Miss! Can't even wait for dukes and
duchesses. 'Gin the law!" answered the old guard, as he touched his
hat and closed and locked the door.
Salome sank back in her deeply-cushioned seat, thankful, at least, that
she was alone in the carriage.
And in three minutes the tidal train started.