At the Villa Rose

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE SEANCE

  Helene Vauquier locked the door of the salon upon the inside and placedthe key upon the mantel-shelf, as she had always done whenever a seancehad been held. The curtains had been loosened at the sides of thearched recess in front of the glass doors, ready to be drawn across.Inside the recess, against one of the pillars which supported the arch,a high stool without a back, taken from the hall, had been placed, andthe back legs of the stool had been lashed with cord firmly to thepillar, so that it could not be moved. The round table had been put inposition, with three chairs about it. Mme. Dauvray waited impatiently.Celia stood apparently unconcerned, apparently lost to all that wasgoing on. Her eyes saw no one. Adele looked up at Celia, and laughedmaliciously.

  "Mademoiselle, I see, is in the very mood to produce the most wonderfulphenomena. But it will be better, I think, madame," she said, turningto Mme. Dauvray, "that Mlle. Celie should put on those gloves which Isee she has thrown on to a chair. It will be a little more difficultfor mademoiselle to loosen these cords, should she wish to do so."

  The argument silenced Celia. If she refused this condition now shewould excite Mme. Dauvray to a terrible suspicion. She drew on hergloves ruefully and slowly, smoothed them over her elbows, and buttonedthem. To free her hands with her fingers and wrists already hampered ingloves would not be so easy a task. But there was no escape. AdeleRossignol was watching her with a satiric smile. Mme. Dauvray wasurging her to be quick. Obeying a second order the girl raised herskirt and extended a slim foot in a pale-green silk stocking and asatin slipper to match. Adele was content. Celia was wearing the shoesshe was meant to wear. They were made upon the very same last as thosewhich Celia had just kicked off upstairs. An almost imperceptible nodfrom Helene Vauquier, moreover, assured her.

  She took up a length of the thin cord.

  "Now, how are we to begin?" she said awkwardly. "I think I will askyou, mademoiselle, to put your hands behind you."

  Celia turned her back and crossed her wrists. She stood in her satinfrock, with her white arms and shoulders bare, her slender throatsupporting her small head with its heavy curls, her big hat--a pictureof young grace and beauty. She would have had an easy task that nighthad there been men instead of women to put her to the test. But thewomen were intent upon their own ends: Mme. Dauvray eager for herseance, Adele Tace and Helene Vauquier for the climax of their plot.

  Celia clenched her hands to make the muscles of her wrists rigid toresist the pressure of the cord. Adele quietly unclasped them andplaced them palm to palm. And at once Celia became uneasy. It was notmerely the action, significant though it was of Adele's alertness tothwart her, which troubled Celia. But she was extraordinarily receptiveof impressions, extraordinarily quick to feel, from a touch, some dimsensation of the thought of the one who touched her. So now the touchof Adele's swift, strong, nervous hands caused her a queer, vague shockof discomfort. It was no more than that at the moment, but it was quitedefinite as that.

  "Keep your hands so, please, mademoiselle," said Adele; "your fingersloose."

  And the next moment Celia winced and had to bite her lip to prevent acry. The thin cord was wound twice about her wrists, drawn cruellytight and then cunningly knotted. For one second Celia was thankful forher gloves; the next, more than ever she regretted that she wore them.It would have been difficult enough for her to free her hands now, evenwithout them. And upon that a worse thing befell her.

  "I beg mademoiselle's pardon if I hurt her," said Adele.

  And she tied the girl's thumbs and little fingers. To slacken the knotsshe must have the use of her fingers, even though her gloves made themfumble. Now she had lost the use of them altogether. She began to feelthat she was in master-hands. She was sure of it the next instant. ForAdele stood up, and, passing a cord round the upper part of her arms,drew her elbows back. To bring any strength to help her in wrigglingher hands free she must be able to raise her elbows. With them trussedin the small of her back she was robbed entirely of her strength. Andall the time her strange uneasiness grew. She made a movement ofrevolt, and at once the cord was loosened.

  "Mlle. Celie objects to my tests," said Adele, with a laugh, to Mme.Dauvray. "And I do not wonder."

  Celia saw upon the old woman's foolish and excited face a look ofveritable consternation.

  "Are you afraid, Celie?" she asked.

  There was anger, there was menace in the voice, but above all thesethere was fear--fear that her illusions were to tumble about her. Celiaheard that note and was quelled by it. This folly of belief, theseseances, were the one touch of colour in Mme. Dauvray's life. And itwas just that instinctive need of colour which had made her so easy todelude. How strong the need is, how seductive the proposal to supplyit, Celia knew well. She knew it from the experience of her life whenthe Great Fortinbras was at the climax of his fortunes. She hadtravelled much amongst monotonous, drab towns without character oramusements. She had kept her eyes open. She had seen that it was fromthe denizens of the dull streets in these towns that the quackreligions won their recruits. Mme. Dauvray's life had been afeatureless sort of affair until these experiments had come to colourit. Madame Dauvray must at any rate preserve the memory of that colour.

  "No," she said boldly; "I am not afraid," and after that she moved nomore.

  Her elbows were drawn firmly back and tightly bound. She was sure shecould not free them. She glanced in despair at Helene Vauquier, andthen some glimmer of hope sprang up. For Helene Vauquier gave her alook, a smile of reassurance. It was as if she said, "I will come toyour help." Then, to make security still more sure, Adele turned thegirl about as unceremoniously as if she had been a doll, and, passing acord at the back of her arms, drew both ends round in front and knottedthem at her waist.

  "Now, Celie," said Adele, with a vibration in her voice which Celia hadnot remarked before.

  Excitement was gaining upon her, as upon Mme. Dauvray. Her face wasflushed and shiny, her manner peremptory and quick. Celia's uneasinessgrew into fear. She could have used the words which Hanaud spoke thenext day in that very room--"There is something here which I do notunderstand." The touch of Adele Tace's hands communicated something toher--something which filled her with a vague alarm. She could not haveformulated it if she would; she dared not if she could. She had but tostand and submit.

  "Now," said Adele.

  She took the girl by the shoulders and set her in a clear space in themiddle of the room, her back to the recess, her face to the mirror,where all could see her.

  "Now, Celie"--she had dropped the "Mlle." and the ironic suavity of hermanner--"try to free yourself."

  For a moment the girl's shoulders worked, her hands fluttered. But theyremained helplessly bound.

  "Ah, you will be content, Adele, to-night," cried Mme. Dauvray eagerly.

  But even in the midst of her eagerness--so thoroughly had she beenprepared--there lingered a flavour of doubt, of suspicion. In Celia'smind there was still the one desperate resolve.

  "I must succeed to-night," she said to herself--"I must!"

  Adele Rossignol kneeled on the floor behind her. She gathered incarefully the girl's frock. Then she picked up the long train, wound ittightly round her limbs, pinioning and swathing them in the folds ofsatin, and secured the folds with a cord about the knees.

  She stood up again.

  "Can you walk, Celie?" she asked. "Try!"

  With Helene Vauquier to support her if she fell, Celia took a tinyshuffling step forward, feeling supremely ridiculous. No one, however,of her audience was inclined to laugh. To Mme. Dauvray the wholebusiness was as serious as the most solemn ceremonial. Adele was intentupon making her knots secure. Helene Vauquier was the well-bred servantwho knew her place. It was not for her to laugh at her young mistress,in however ludicrous a situation she might be.

  "Now," said Adele, "we will tie mademoiselle's ankles, and then weshall be ready for Mme. de Montespan."

  The raillery in her voice had a note of sav
agery in it now. Celia'svague terror grew. She had a feeling that a beast was waking in thewoman, and with it came a growing premonition of failure. Vainly shecried to herself, "I must not fail to-night." But she feltinstinctively that there was a stronger personality than her own inthat room, taming her, condemning her to failure, influencing theothers.

  She was placed in a chair. Adele passed a cord round her ankles, andthe mere touch of it quickened Celia to a spasm of revolt. Her lastlittle remnant of liberty was being taken from her. She raised herself,or rather would have raised herself. But Helene with gentle hands heldher in the chair, and whispered under her breath:

  "Have no fear! Madame is watching."

  Adele looked fiercely up into the girl's face.

  "Keep still, HEIN, LA PETITE!" she cried. And the epithet--"littleone"--was a light to Celia. Till now, upon these occasions, with herblack ceremonial dress, her air of aloofness, her vague eyes, and thedignity of her carriage, she had already produced some part of theireffect before the seance had begun. She had been wont to sail into theroom, distant, mystical. She had her audience already expectant ofmysteries, prepared for marvels. Her work was already half done. Butnow of all that help she was deprived. She was no longer a personaloof, a prophetess, a seer of visions; she was simply asmartly-dressed girl of to-day, trussed up in a ridiculous and painfulposition--that was all. The dignity was gone. And the more she realisedthat, the more she was hindered from influencing her audience, the lessable she was to concentrate her mind upon them, to will them to favourher. Mme. Dauvray's suspicions, she was sure, were still awake. Shecould not quell them. There was a stronger personality than hers atwork in the room. The cord bit through her thin stockings into herankles. She dared not complain. It was savagely tied. She made noremonstrance. And then Helene Vauquier raised her up from the chair andlifted her easily off the ground. For a moment she held her so. IfCelia had felt ridiculous before, she knew that she was ten times moreso now. She could see herself as she hung in Helene Vauquier's arms,with her delicate frock ludicrously swathed and swaddled about herlegs. But, again, of those who watched her no one smiled.

  "We have had no such tests as these," Mme. Dauvray explained, half infear, half in hope.

  Adele Rossignol looked the girl over and nodded her head withsatisfaction. She had no animosity towards Celia; she had really nofeeling of any kind for her or against her. Fortunately she was unawareat this time that Harry Wethermill had been paying his court to her orit would have gone worse with Mlle. Celie before the night was out.Mlle. Celie was just a pawn in a very dangerous game which she happenedto be playing, and she had succeeded in engineering her pawn into thedesired condition of helplessness. She was content.

  "Mademoiselle," she said, with a smile, "you wish me to believe. Youhave now your opportunity."

  Opportunity! And she was helpless. She knew very well that she couldnever free herself from these cords without Helene's help. She wouldfail, miserably and shamefully fail.

  "It was madame who wished you to believe," she stammered.

  And Adele Rossignol laughed suddenly--a short, loud, harsh laugh, whichjarred upon the quiet of the room. It turned Celia's vague alarm into adefinite terror. Some magnetic current brought her grave messages offear. The air about her seemed to tingle with strange menaces. Shelooked at Adele. Did they emanate from her? And her terror answered her"Yes." She made her mistake in that. The strong personality in the roomwas not Adele Rossignol, but Helene Vauquier, who held her like a childin her arms. But she was definitely aware of danger, and too late awareof it. She struggled vainly. From her head to her feet she waspowerless. She cried out hysterically to her patron:

  "Madame! Madame! There is something--a presence here--some one whomeans harm! I know it!"

  And upon the old woman's face there came a look, not of alarm, but ofextraordinary relief. The genuine, heartfelt cry restored herconfidence in Celia.

  "Some one--who means harm!" she whispered, trembling with excitement.

  "Ah, mademoiselle is already under control," said Helene, using thejargon which she had learnt from Celia's lips.

  Adele Rossignol grinned.

  "Yes, LA PETITE is under control," she repeated, with a sneer; and allthe elegance of her velvet gown was unable to hide her any longer fromCelia's knowledge. Her grin had betrayed her. She was of the dregs. ButHelene Vauquier whispered:

  "Keep still, mademoiselle. I shall help you."

  Vauquier carried the girl into the recess and placed her upon thestool. With a long cord Adele bound her by the arms and the waist tothe pillar, and her ankles she fastened to the rung of the stool, sothat they could not touch the ground.

  "Thus we shall be sure that when we hear rapping it will be thespirits, and not the heels, which rap," she said. "Yes, I am contentednow." And she added, with a smile, "Celie may even have her scarf,"and, picking up a white scarf of tulle which Celia had brought downwith her, she placed it carelessly round her shoulders.

  "Wait!" Helene Vauquier whispered in Celia's ear.

  To the cord about Celia's waist Adele was fastening a longer line.

  "I shall keep my foot on the other end of this," she said, "when thelights are out, and I shall know then if our little one frees herself."

  The three women went out of the recess. And the next moment the heavysilk curtains swung across the opening, leaving Celia in darkness.Quickly and noiselessly the poor girl began to twist and work herhands. But she only bruised her wrists. This was to be the last of theseances. But it must succeed! So much of Mme. Dauvray's happiness, somuch of her own, hung upon its success. Let her fail to-night, shewould be surely turned from the door. The story of her trickery and herexposure would run through Aix. And she had not told Harry! It wouldreach his ears from others. He would never forgive her. To face theold, difficult life of poverty and perhaps starvation again, and againalone, would be hard enough; but to face it with Harry Wethermill'scontempt added to its burdens--as the poor girl believed she surelywould have to do--no, that would be impossible! Not this time would sheturn away from the Seine, because it was so terrible and cold. If shehad had the courage to tell him yesterday, he would have forgiven,surely he would! The tears gathered in her eyes and rolled down hercheeks. What would become of her now? She was in pain besides. Thecords about her arms and ankles tortured her. And she feared--yes,desperately she feared the effect of the exposure upon Mme. Dauvray.She had been treated as a daughter; now she was in return to rob Mme.Dauvray of the belief which had become the passion of her life.

  "Let us take our seats at the table," she heard Mme. Dauvray say."Helene, you are by the switch of the electric light. Will you turn itoff?" And upon that Helene whispered, yet so that the whisper reachedto Celia and awakened hope:

  "Wait! I will see what she is doing."

  The curtains opened, and Helene Vauquier slipped to the girl's side.

  Celia checked her tears. She smiled imploringly, gratefully.

  "What shall I do?" asked Helene, in a voice so low that the movement ofher mouth rather than the words made the question clear.

  Celia raised her head to answer. And then a thing incomprehensible toher happened. As she opened her lips Helene Vauquier swiftly forced ahandkerchief in between the girl's teeth, and lifting the scarf fromher shoulders wound it tightly twice across her mouth, binding herlips, and made it fast under the brim of her hat behind her head. Celiatried to scream; she could not utter a sound. She stared at Helene withincredulous, horror-stricken eyes. Helene nodded at her with a cruelgrin of satisfaction, and Celia realised, though she did notunderstand, something of the rancour and the hatred which seethedagainst her in the heart of the woman whom she had supplanted. HeleneVauquier meant to expose her to-night; Celia had not a doubt of it.That was her explanation of Helene Vauquier's treachery; and believingthat error, she believed yet another--that she had reached the terribleclimax of her troubles. She was only at the beginning of them.

  "Helene!" cried Mme. Dauvray sharply. "What are you do
ing?"

  The maid instantly slid back into the room.

  "Mademoiselle has not moved," she said.

  Celia heard the women settle in their chairs about the table.

  "Is madame ready?" asked Helene; and then there was the sound of thesnap of a switch. In the salon darkness had come.

  If only she had not been wearing her gloves, Celia thought, she mightpossibly have just been able to free her fingers and her supple handsfrom their bonds. But as it was she was helpless. She could only sitand wait until the audience in the salon grew tired of waiting and cameto her. She closed her eyes, pondering if by any chance she couldexcuse her failure. But her heart sank within her as she thought ofMme. Rossignol's raillery. No, it was all over for her. ...

  She opened her eyes, and she wondered. It seemed to her that there wasmore light in the recess than there had been when she closed them. Verylikely her eyes were growing used to the darkness. Yet--yet--she oughtnot to be able to distinguish quite so clearly the white pillaropposite to her. She looked towards the glass doors and understood. Thewooden shutters outside the doors were not quite closed. They had beencarelessly left unbolted. A chink from lintel to floor let in a greythread of light. Celia heard the women whispering in the salon, andturned her head to catch the words.

  "Do you hear any sound?"

  "No."

  "Was that a hand which touched me?"

  "No."

  "We must wait."

  And so silence came again, and suddenly there was quite a rush of lightinto the recess. Celia was startled. She turned her head back againtowards the window. The wooden door had swung a little more open. Therewas a wider chink to let the twilight of that starlit darkness through.And as she looked, the chink slowly broadened and broadened, the doorswung slowly back on hinges which were strangely silent. Celia staredat the widening panel of grey light with a vague terror. It was strangethat she could hear no whisper of wind in the garden. Why, oh, why wasthat latticed door opening so noiselessly? Almost she believed that thespirits after all... And suddenly the recess darkened again, and Celiasat with her heart leaping and shivering in her breast. There wassomething black against the glass doors--a man. He had appeared assilently, as suddenly, as any apparition. He stood blocking out thelight, pressing his face against the glass, peering into the room. Fora moment the shock of horror stunned her. Then she tore frantically atthe cords. All thought of failure, of exposure, of dismissal had fledfrom her. The three poor women--that was her thought--were sittingunwarned, unsuspecting, defenceless in the pitch-blackness of thesalon. A few feet away a man, a thief, was peering in. They werewaiting for strange things to happen in the darkness. Strange andterrible things would happen unless she could free herself, unless shecould warn them. And she could not. Her struggles were mere efforts tostruggle, futile, a shiver from head to foot, and noiseless as ashiver. Adele Rossignol had done her work well and thoroughly. Celia'sarms, her waist, her ankles were pinioned; only the bandage over hermouth seemed to be loosening. Then upon horror, horror was added. Theman touched the glass doors, and they swung silently inwards. They,too, had been carelessly left unbolted. The man stepped without a soundover the sill into the room. And, as he stepped, fear for herself droveout for the moment from Celia's thoughts fear for the three women inthe black room. If only he did not see her! She pressed herself againstthe pillar. He might overlook her, perhaps! His eyes would not be soaccustomed to the darkness of the recess as hers. He might pass herunnoticed--if only he did not touch some fold of her dress.

  And then, in the midst of her terror, she experienced so great arevulsion from despair to joy that a faintness came upon her, and shealmost swooned. She saw who the intruder was. For when he stepped intothe recess he turned towards her, and the dim light struck upon him andshowed her the contour of his face. It was her lover, Harry Wethermill.Why he had come at this hour, and in this strange way, she did notconsider. Now she must attract his eyes, now her fear was lest heshould not see her.

  But he came at once straight towards her. He stood in front of her,looking into her eyes. But he uttered no cry. He made no movement ofsurprise. Celia did not understand it. His face was in the shadow nowand she could not see it. Of course, he was stunned, amazed.But--but--he stood almost as if he had expected to find her there andjust in that helpless attitude. It was absurd, of course, but he seemedto look upon her helplessness as nothing out of the ordinary way. Andhe raised no hand to set her free. A chill struck through her. But thenext moment he did raise his hand and the blood flowed again, at herheart. Of course, she was in the darkness. He had not seen her plight.Even now he was only beginning to be aware of it. For his hand touchedthe bandage over her mouth--tentatively. He felt for the knot under thebroad brim of her hat at the back of her head. He found it. In a momentshe would be free. She kept her head quite still, and then--why was heso long? she asked herself. Oh, it was not possible! But her heartseemed to stop, and she knew that it was not only possible--it wastrue: he was tightening the scarf, not loosening it. The folds boundher lips more surely. She felt the ends drawn close at the back of herhead. In a frenzy she tried to shake her head free. But he held herface firmly and finished his work. He was wearing gloves, she noticedwith horror, just as thieves do. Then his hands slid down her tremblingarms and tested the cord about her wrists. There was something horriblydeliberate about his movements. Celia, even at that moment, even withhim, had the sensation which had possessed her in the salon. It was thepersonal equation on which she was used to rely. But neither Adele northis--this STRANGER was considering her as even a human being. She wasa pawn in their game, and they used her, careless of her terror, herbeauty, her pain. Then he freed from her waist the long cord which ranbeneath the curtain to Adele Rossignol's foot. Celia's first thoughtwas one of relief. He would jerk the cord unwittingly. They would comeinto the recess and see him. And then the real truth flashed in uponher blindingly. He had jerked the cord, but he had jerked itdeliberately. He was already winding it up in a coil as it slidnoiselessly across the polished floor beneath the curtains towards him.He had given a signal to Adele Rossignol. All that woman's scepticismand precaution against trickery had been a mere blind, under cover ofwhich she had been able to pack the girl away securely without arousingher suspicions. Helene Vauquier was in the plot, too. The scarf atCelia's mouth was proof of that. As if to add proof to proof, she heardAdele Rossignol speak in answer to the signal.

  "Are we all ready? Have you got Mme. Dauvray's left hand, Helene?"

  "Yes, madame," answered the maid.

  "And I have her right hand. Now give me yours, and thus we are in acircle about the table."

  Celia, in her mind, could see them sitting about the round table in thedarkness, Mme. Dauvray between the two women, securely held by them.And she herself could not utter a cry--could not move a muscle to helpher.

  Wethermill crept back on noiseless feet to the window, closed thewooden doors, and slid the bolts into their sockets. Yes, HeleneVauquier was in the plot. The bolts and the hinges would not haveworked so smoothly but for her. Darkness again filled the recessinstead of the grey twilight. But in a moment a faint breath of windplayed upon Celia's forehead, and she knew that the man had parted thecurtains and slipped into the room. Celia let her head fall towards hershoulder. She was sick and faint with terror. Her lover was in thisplot--the lover in whom she had felt so much pride, for whose sake shehad taken herself so bitterly to task. He was the associate of AdeleRossignol, of Helene Vauquier. He had used her, Celia, as an instrumentfor his crime. All their hours together at the Villa des Fleurs--hereto-night was their culmination. The blood buzzed in her ears andhammered in the veins of her temples. In front of her eyes the darknesswhirled, flecked with fire. She would have fallen, but she could notfall. Then, in the silence, a tambourine jangled. There was to be aseance to-night, then, and the seance had begun. In a dreadful suspenseshe heard Mme. Dauvray speak.