Faithful Margaret: A Novel
to prevent me. But he telegraphs to his accomplice that I must not be
murdered yet, and his accomplice spares me. Instead of finishing his
work, he gets out at the next station, and probably telegraphs something
to his principal, and waits for a new order. That he received it, is
evident from his continuing his pursuit and haunting my steps as he has
done. Now why was I not murdered, according to their agreement? For what
was I reserved? And what was that fresh command which the accomplice
received per telegraph from Mortlake?"
Mr. Caerlyon tapped at her door, and called out that there was a letter
for her, and the waiting woman brought it to Margaret, who received it
eagerly, hoping that it was from Dr. Gay, after all.
But she perceived in a moment that it was not, and saw, with disgust,
the large, sprawling characters on the back of the note, and the dirty
wafer which closed it, in lieu of an envelope.
With shrinking fingers she opened it, and read these words:
"MA'AM:--You knows doosed well who's a talkin' te yer by this
here. If you be's the brick I takes yer for, yer won't be
sulky, and throw away yer only chance, for mean spite. Come,
now, jest give me yer note of hand that yer'll return that 'ere
stole pocket-book to its owner whenever yer sees Regis agin,
and yer'll see more of yer admirin' friend; but act ugly, and
wake the devil in the col., and--ware-hawk! yer'll be awhile on
the road back--that's all.
"Yours to command,
"POCKET PISTOL."
"No, you wretch," said Margaret, "I shall not give up the pocket-book
which condemns Mortlake. I simply defy your threats, and shall be well
guarded in future. My doubts are answered. I know what Mortlake's new
order was; there it is," she cried, tossing the villainous-looking
scrawl upon the table, "and I defy it! He offers me my life in exchange
for my proofs, and I scorn his offer, I would rather bring such a fiend
to justice than live a happy life, knowing that I had suffered him to
elude his just punishment."
She called Mr. Caerlyon in.
"Who brought that letter?" asked she.
"A ferry rakket poy, matam," returned he.
"Is he waiting for an answer?"
"Yes, inteet, matam, ant playing with a crown-piece he says the
gentleman gave him to holt his tongue."
"Tell him that there is no answer, and send for a constable to follow
the boy, and to seize the man who sent him."
"I'll to that, my laty," cried the landlord, with spirit, and
disappeared with great alacrity.
In half an hour Mr. Caerlyon and Mr. Purcell came to announce to her
that both their pursuits had been fruitless; the villain had disappeared
as completely as the mirage which is lifted in air, and Purcell's
warrant and police force came too late.
The fire flashed from the indomitable woman's eyes; she crested her
head.
"We shall prepare for him, then," said she, with calm courage, "and meet
him suitably when he intrudes upon us. In an hour we shall start upon
our journey back to Regis, Purcell, so you must go and refresh yourself.
Mr. Caerlyon, you shall do me the favor of calling upon the chief of
police and handing him a note from me."
The steward retired to obey her command, and Caerlyon cheerfully
promised to do anything for such a brave lady, and waited for her to
write her letter.
It was a letter of instructions; she wished the chief of police to send
two of his sharpest detectives on the road to Cirencester a half hour
before she and her servant started, that they might thereafter travel in
company without rousing the suspicion of O'Grady by leaving Llandaff
together. She explained the case, and suggested the need of the
detectives, disguising themselves, that they might protect her
throughout the journey, without frightening away the ruffian, who would
doubtless attempt her life once more before she reached Regis. As soon
as she had finished, Caerlyon carried off the letter with all due
secrecy.
In an hour the return coach from Cirencester jolted up to the hotel, and
Margaret and her escort took their places inside, alone. There were some
men, as before, on the top, but O'Grady discreetly kept out of sight,
and since his black horse still munched his oats in Caerlyon's stable,
everybody thought that the travelers were leaving their enemy behind
them.
At the first inn two farmers stopped the coach and climbed in beside
Margaret. A respectful bow to her and Purcell revealed them as her
protectors, the detectives.
The liveliest imagination could never have discovered in these
heavy-faced, slow-spoken, and comfortably muffled farmers two lynx-eyed
emissaries of the law, on the track of a felon. Their disguise was
admirable.
When more passengers crowded in, the two farmers grunted out
agricultural jokes to each other, or read the county paper, or apprised
the intrinsic value of each snow-capped barn, and white-ridged field,
and huge wheat-stack they passed with a zest and eagerness positively
infectious, until every one inside was drawn into the argument, and a
few shrewd questions had been asked and innocently answered, which
disclosed the fact that a man in a fur coat had galloped up the road
three-quarters of an hour ago upon a gray horse.
"Thought Caerlyon's mare was missing when I went to his stables,"
muttered one detective to the other; "he has got off before we left the
town. All right; we'll catch up."
But they did not catch up that night; and although the two officers
slept in a room across the passage from Miss Walsingham's, in the hotel
at Cirencester, they saw no one attempt either to communicate with her
or to molest her.
So it remained all during the next day's cold and weary journey, the
masked detectives carefully kept close by the threatened young lady, and
furtively watched each passenger who entered or left the car; but the
ruffian was not to be traced, his menace to Margaret was but an empty
vaunt; her precautions seemed to have effectually routed him.
At seven o'clock that Thursday evening the train glided into the Regis
station-house, the red lights glimmered on the platform, the crowd
jostled, surged, and receded; and when the way seemed clear, one of the
detectives got out to fetch a cab for Margaret before she should leave
the car.
While he was gone a close carriage rolled into the shed, and the driver,
touching his hat to Margaret, whom he could see at the car window,
offered his services and his cab.
"This will do," said she to Purcell. "When Adams brings the other cab,
our friends will need it to go to their hotel. Time is passing, and I
must keep my engagement with Mr. Emersham."
The remaining detective got out and stood a yard or so in advance of the
cab-driver, who was opening his coach-door; and Purcell assisted his
mistress out of the car to the platform, and then turned round and
stooped to pick up her traveling-bag from the planks where he had thrown
it.
In a moment the long-expected crisis came, so long delayed, so startling
now when they thought it was too late to fear it longer.
A man darted out of the shadow of the station-house, and sprang like a
panther on his victim. He threw the stooping Purcell violently upon the
ground, seized Margaret, and hurried her with a giant's strength to the
door of the cab, into which he tried to force her.
"Get in with you, or I'll blow your brains out!" hissed his desperate
voice in her ear.
Her shriek of terror had scarcely escaped when the detective, coolly
stepping forward from his watch, dealt the ruffian a blow on the back of
the head with his horny fist, which felled him like an ox, and the
leveled pistol fell from his relaxing hand and snapped off with the
concussion, lodging its bullet in the bottom panel of the nearest
railway car and startling the cabman's horses so violently that they
plunged off the platform with the cabman clinging to the reins.
A railway porter ran up to the scene of the assault, and held the
half-stunned O'Grady while the detective secured him, and Purcell,
having gathered himself up, with aching bones, led the agitated Margaret
into the station-house.
By this time the mob had assembled, and were crushing each other
unceremoniously to gain a glimpse of the prisoner, who lay cursing and
blaspheming on the wooden floor, with his conquerer grimly standing over
him, until Adams rattled up in the cab he had been in search of and
shared the onerous duty of jailer.
Margaret, glancing shudderingly out of the station-house window, saw the
wretched man pass on his way to the police station, his captors on
either side urging him to hasten. His hands were tied behind him, his
florid face was yellow with despair, his steel-blue eyes glared with
fear; a more abject picture of crime and ruin could scarce be conceived.
And when this wretched vision had vanished, another took its place. A
writhing, white face flitted, specter-like, from out of dim shadows, and
peered with staring eyeballs after the arrested man, and a scowl of
fury, terror, and despair descended on that devilish brow.
The next instant he, too, had melted into shadow, and was lost amid the
throng.
"Roland Mortlake," whispered Margaret, who was shivering as if she had
seen a phantom. "He has learned the truth. Great Heaven! he will
escape."
She stepped to the door and called the steward, who had gone to open the
cab-door.
"Go instantly in search of Mortlake," she cried; "he has just passed the
window; you must not permit him to escape. I will drive to Emersham's
law-office myself."
Away ran Purcell after two constables; and Margaret hurried into the
cab, and, undeterred by one heart-beat of compunction, she set herself
to compass her enemy's utter ruin.
For pitiful, kind, and great-hearted as she was, she could never suffer
a murderer to escape. No, not even to buy her own safety.
Margaret Walsingham alighted from the carriage at the door of Mr.
Emersham's law-office, and stepped into the room with the mien of a
Semiramis, flashing-eyed, carmine cheeked, and inexorable.
One glance around the room showed her the nimble young lawyer, and the
trembling old clergyman gazing white lipped into each other's faces, the
folded paper on the table between them, the locked pocket-book, and the
will; and the hand of the clock on the mantle-piece pointed to the
fifteenth minute after seven.
"Thank God! she is here," murmured Mr. Challoner, solemnly.
"I have come back," said Margaret, "to break these seals and to expose a
felon. Hasten, or the felon will escape."
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAINS OR THE GALLOWS.
Mrs. Chetwode, sitting in her room at Castle Brand at half-past seven of
the night, heard a dreadful racket of horse's hoofs on the frozen court
below; and, looking down from her window, she saw the colonel throwing
himself from the saddle, and striding up the front steps in red-hot
haste.
A thundering knock at the door announced the humor of the gentleman, and
the meek old lady hurried into the upper hall to see him when he entered
the lower, murmuring to herself with mild astonishment:
"What's sent the man back in such a temper, I wonder? My! he's always
ranting about one thing or another; no wonder my poor miss hates him."
The man who opened to the colonel recoiled in astonishment from his fell
scowl, as he brushed past him and sprang up stairs, three at a time.
In the absence of the mistress of Castle Brand, the unwelcome guest had
appropriated to himself a suite of apartments in the castle, announcing
his intention of waiting there for the return of the fugitive, and had
lived a short but merry season in luxury and splendor; what wonder that
he loathed the brutal fates which were conspiring to thrust him out of
his paradise into outer darkness.