Faithful Margaret: A Novel
again when I am least prepared for him; then let _me_ accompany the pair
as Thoms, the valet; and Thoms shall remind Calembours of his duty; and
Calembours shall commission Thoms to deal the death-blow, if chance
withholds it in battle, and Calembours shall ever after be tied hand and
foot by that command of his to Thoms, and shall never dare to betray the
cunning Mortlake. Then when Brand is dead, Thoms shall disappear;
Calembours shall return to England with his report; Mortlake shall pay
him much or little, as he likes, and Calembours shall be gagged for life
with his share in the murder of Brand. Thus shall Mortlake cover up his
traces, and win fortune without one fear of discovery. And if Calembours
proves unfaithful in his compact, why then Thoms shall only have to use
his dagger twice instead of once, and perhaps that would be the best way
after all.'
"Was it not a wonderful plot, mademoiselle?
"So complete, so obscure, so complicated!
"And to think that I should not have been the first to conceive it!
"Bah! I told you that Monsieur Mortlake could cheat me at
_rouge-et-noir_; he was my mental superior.
"Mine was the intellect quick, daring, creative; but his was the sure,
silent, and wily brain that could view a scheme in all its bearings, and
twist it as he willed.
"Enough; Monsieur Mortlake accompanied us to the seat of war as Thoms,
and not once did I suspect the villain of being other than he seemed.
"Bah! to think of being served by such a worm!
"Mademoiselle, the soul of the knight of honor rises in wrath as he
recalls these days of foolish deception, when the brother colonels,
sitting by the camp-fire, laugh over poor old Thoms, and say, 'He's
mad.' Mademoiselle, the blood of an honest man boils as he recalls the
dastard pranks of his valet; when he rifles the pockets of brave Colonel
Brand; and sitting behind us, mimics the gestures of my friend,
rehearsing for his future character; and shoots at Brand and me from
behind our tent, and missing fire, stabs the innocent Confederate envoy,
who might betray him.
"When I forget my compact with Monsieur Mortlake, and show my affection
for the great colonel, Thoms is there to menace me with meaning looks;
and when I defy his hints and refuse to spy any longer upon my colonel's
life, a letter comes from Mortlake quickening me by threats and
promises. 'Tis penned, of course, by Thoms, and I never know it then.
"The history of those days you have discovered for yourself,
mademoiselle, in that important note-book, which you seized with such
high courage.
"Admirable woman! I bend the knee to you, for you rival in valor Joan of
Arc. Without your heart of steel and hand of silk, the wary, lying fox
might never have been lured from his hole and crushed; and the noble
Colonel Brand might have lain forgotten and unavenged.
"Thus I come to the middle of the volume. The stories have met; I take
up the ends of them; I twine them together, and, _voila!_ an
_eclaircissement_! When I have run my little race in the ungrateful
republic, I come home to England.
"I am free. I have money, health; I have a sacred duty to perform, an
insult to avenge; I hasten into England, and seek my principal.
"_Ouais!_ are not the journals teeming with great news? '_The Great
Castle Brand Plot_ meets my astonished eyes in every journal. The vile
imposture is divulged, the daring murderer is condemned; his serpentine
guile is held up; and with passion I read that my valet Thoms and my
employer Mortlake are one. I foam, I sweat with rage and shame, that he
should have cheated me.
"Oh, _mon Dieu!_ that I should live to be cheated by _Thoms_! Why did I
not saber him in those days in Virginia?
"I swear that I will have honorable satisfaction; the dog shall die for
his treachery to a knight whose honor is more valued than his life.
"I know the old disguise of my Mortlake. I remember his haunts, I say.
England, I will find your criminal for you, but I shall have my little
account settled with him before I pass him over to you.
"I hasten to Canterbury, where I have seen him first, and in his old
haunt, plying his modest profession as gambler, I find my
bird-of-the-jail, with the eye upon Paris when tracked to Canterbury,
there to hide from angry England.
"I penetrate to his _cafe_, where he consorts with blacklegs, sharpers,
and barmaids, and I gain a private audience of the great man in his
exile.
"I snap the fingers in his face. _Tonnere!_ how white it grows! I cry:
"'Monsieur, you are no gentleman--you are _un fripon_, a rogue, a
speaking cur! Monsieur, I spit upon you for a cur! Will you have pistols
or sabers?'
"'Calembours, by all the devils!' groans my rat in the trap. 'Why, man,
I thought you were dead long ago. If I hadn't thought so, I should have
had you to help me through with that accursed plot, and paid you well
for it, too----'
"'Liar!' I cry, 'I don't believe you! You are Thoms, and Thoms was a
traitor. _Allons_, monsieur, will you meet me in the court out there?'
"'Calembours,' whines the slave, 'why need you trample on a down man?
Nobody knows me here, and I'll give you my purse, my jewels, and a fine
blood-horse which I have out there in the stable, if you'll let me
escape to Dover to-night.'
"I weigh the purse, not so light, considering; the jewels--_par la
messe!_ a million francs would not purchase them.
"But I do not falter; he has cheated me with a paltry trick, he has
practiced upon my credulity--my credulity, mademoiselle, and a
_chevalier d'honneur_ never forgives that.
"'Dog! you think to buy me!' I screamed, in my high indignation--'you,
who have played your vile trick upon me, who have laughed under the hood
at me. _You_, Thoms! Never, Monsieur Mortlake; but I will have your
blood! Fox! beast! you shall be honored for the first time in your
plebeian life--you shall fight with Calembours!'
"The slave recoils, for he knows the accuracy of the chevalier's aim, he
knows the perfection of the chevalier's passes; he loathes pistol and
saber as a means of settling the dispute.
"Glaring at me, eye to eye, he casts about in his wily brain how to
cheat me to my face--he was ever my superior in juggling tricks,
although he had no bravery, except what paid him.
"But he is late in achieving his last throw for freedom--angry England
has tracked the fugitive. A posse of _gens d'armes_--what you call
police--pour into monsieur's private saloon, and advance to take my
Mortlake.
"He glares at them with eyes of horror, gathers himself for a tiger's
bound through their midst, and nearly gains the door.
"But he is caught--mid air; he is hurled to the floor; the shackles are
on his wrists, the gyves are on his feet, and, with foam on his lips and
murder in his eyes, he looks up at his captors.
"'Ha, ha! my bird!' jests a _gen d'armes_; 'you're caged at last. Your
ticket of leave won't do any longer--it's out many a month ago; and,
since you don't go in for road-work, in Tasmania, you can try the
shortest road to glory.'
"The convict says never a word, but shuts his eyes and succumbs; and so
they carry him away, and I have bade my last adieu to Monsieur Mortlake.
"_Ma chere_, there are ups in this world, and there are downs; I have
seen both--I have been elevated to the highest pinnacle of fortune, and
again thrown under fortune's wheel--but, mademoiselle, my honor has
never been impugned, for it was above reproach.
"Yet this dog of a Mortlake had ventured to amuse himself at my
expense--had outwitted me in my own game; can the depths of misfortune
be too profound for such a traitor? _Pardieu!_ no, a thousand times no!
"So that when my Mortlake was dragged to prison, I, the insulted man of
honesty, felt only joy that there was a rogue less to find.
"Most illustrious heroine, shall I resume the chronicles?
"Your face answers with eloquence: 'Yes, my friend, and be brief;' but
your great heart trembles, and shrinks from the deep cup of vengeance
which I offer, although you long have sought to taste it.
"No? you deny the imputation? But, mademoiselle, you tremble and are
pale as the winter moon; wherefore? Ah, you apprehend my halting
meaning; you perceive the mists of possibility with those keen eyes, and
you urge, 'Haste, haste, and assure me of the truth!'
"_Eh, bien!_ you shall taste of a cup more mellow than this one of
revenge. I hasten to hold it to the lips of Margaret _la Fidele_!
"I learn as much of my Mortlake's history as my interest in him prompts
me to search out.
"I hear that he was banished to Tasmania twelve years ago for a daring
act of forgery; that he has come back with a ticket of leave two years
since, and, seizing the first opportunity, has presented himself with
freedom, and escaped from the espionage of the law.
"That the detectives sent on the track of Roland Mortlake have met the
detectives on the track of the fugitive ticket of leave man, and that
O'Grady has confessed that they are identical.
"O'Grady, being a companion-convict, and having shared in that
enterprise for freedom, is well qualified to put the detectives upon his
track, and does so. Thus our friend Mortlake vanishes from the scene;
one month ago the prosperous heir of Castle Brand--to-day, the convict
waiting sentence for the murder of the true heir of Castle Brand.
"But, mademoiselle, the little tale is not complete without the
_eclaircissement_; permit me to draw aside the curtain from my secret.
"You shall give the word that draws the bolt, and drop out Mortlake into
a murderer's grave; or you shall raise the warning hand that stays the
doom upon the felon's platform, and waves him back to Tasmania for life
in the chain-gang.
"How you have that power is my secret, mademoiselle; shall I tell it you
for one thousand pounds?"
Grave, keen, penetrating, the Chevalier de Calembours bent forward and
waited breathlessly the answer to this momentous question.
The great eyes of Margaret Walsingham still met his in a fascinated
gaze; her electric face kept its spell-bound attention. With lips apart
and bosom heaving she waited for the end of the story.
"Mademoiselle, shall I tell it you for one thousand pounds, or shall I
go back to America, and bury the secret in oblivion?" asked the
chevalier.
"Tell me all," breathed Margaret, faintly.
"Mademoiselle will remember my modest request?"
"Yes, yes, monsieur, I will pay you what you ask!" she cried,
hysterically; "go on to the end."
"_Milles mercis!_" cried he, cheerfully, "mademoiselle is magnificent!
Mademoiselle does not wish M. Mortlake to escape with his life?"
"No," shuddered Margaret, "he must not live."
"So perfidious!" aspirated the chevalier; "he stole St. Udo's history,
he stole his identity, and then he stole his life. Fiendish Mortlake!"
"He shall die, monsieur, be content," groaned Margaret.
"Even if he had not succeeded in killing St. Udo, his intention would
make him worthy of death," remarked the chevalier.
"Ah, yes, worthy of twenty deaths!" cried Margaret, wringing her hands.
"Mademoiselle loves the brave man who was murdered?" insinuated the
chevalier, in softest accents.
She grew white as death, and the great tears rushed from her eyes.
"What does it matter now?" she moaned. "I do love him--ah, I do love
him!"
Then did the little man rise and expand with warm enthusiasm--then did
his handsome face glow with rapture and with pride.
He put on a smile of most gracious benevolence, he drank in the rich
love-light upon her eloquent countenance, and then he cried, joyfully:
"Incomparable mademoiselle! you deserve good news. We shall hang the
dog, and then resurrect the master; for, _Viola! Colonel Brand is not
dead yet_!"
CHAPTER XXV.
OFF TO AMERICA.