Leatherface: A Tale of Old Flanders

  "But methought, Madonna," he retorted, "that it was solitude that youcraved for. Both last night and even a moment ago you told me veryplainly that you had no desire for my company."

  "Last night I was overwrought and would have made amends to you for mythoughtlessness at once, only that you left me incontinently without afurther word. As for now, Messire, surely you cannot wonder that I haveno mind for your society after a day's carouse has clouded your brainand made your glance unsteady."

  She thought herself very brave in saying this, and more than halfexpected an angry retort from him. Instead of which he suddenly threwback his head and burst into an immoderate and merry laughter. Shegazed at him horrified and not a little frightened--thinking indeed thathis brain was overclouded--but he, as soon as he had recovered hiscomposure, asked her with grave attempt at seriousness: "You think thatI am drunk, Madonna? Ye gods!" he exclaimed not without a touch ofbitterness, "hath such a farce ever been enacted before?"

  "A farce to you perhaps," she said earnestly, "but a tragedy to me. Ihave been rendered wretched and unhappy, Messire, and this despite yourprotestations of chivalry. I did not seek you, Messire. This marriagewas forced upon me. It is ungenerous and cowardly to make me sufferbecause of it."

  "Dastardly and abominable," he assented gravely. "Indeed, Madonna, youdo me far too much honour even to deign to speak with me. I am notworthy that you should waste a thought on me--but since you have been sokind thus far, will you extend your generosity to me by allowing me togive you my most solemn word--to swear to you if need be that I am notthe drunken wretch whom evil tongues have thus described to you.There," he added more lightly, "will you not deign to sit here a moment?You are tired and overwrought; let me get you a cup of wine, and see ifsome less strenuous talk will chase all those black thoughts from yourmind."

  He took her hand and then with gentle yet forceful pressure led her tothe wide hearth and made her sit in the big chair close beside it.

  "Alas! there are not even embers in the grate," he said, "I fear me, youmust be cold."

  From somewhere out of the darkness--she could not see from where--hebrought a footstool for her feet; then he pulled a low chair forward forhimself and sat down at some little distance from her, in his favouriteattitude, with one elbow on his knee and his face shaded by his hand.She remained silent for a moment or two, for she suddenly felt anextraordinary sense of well-being; just the same as she had felt lastnight, and once or twice before in his presence. And she felt deeplysorry for him too. After all, perhaps he had no more desired thismarriage than she had--and no doubt the furrows on his face came fromanxiety and care, and she marvelled what it was that troubled him.

  "There," he asked gaily, "are you better now, Madonna?"

  "Better, I thank you," she replied.

  "Then shall I interpret the thoughts which were coursing behind thatsmooth brow of yours, when first I startled you by my presence here?"

  "If you will."

  He waited a moment, then said dryly: "You desired to convey to me yourwish to return to your father.... Oh! only for a little while," he addedhastily, seeing that she had made a quick, protesting gesture, "but thatwas in your mind, was it not?"

  She could not deny it, and murmured: "Yes."

  "Such a wish, Madonna," he rejoined, gravely, "is as a command to me.In the late morning the horses will be at your disposal. I will havethe honour to accompany you to Brussels."

  "You, Messire!" she exclaimed, "you would..."

  "I would do anything to further your wishes, Madonna; this I would haveyou believe. And a journey to Brussels is such a small matter...."

  "As you say," she murmured. For such are the contradictions of awoman's heart that all of a sudden she did not wish to go away. Allthoughts of rebellion and conspiracies were unaccountably thrust intothe background of her mind, and ... she did not wish to go away....

  "There is no hurry," she continued timidly. "I would not like to putyou to inconvenience."

  "Oh!" he rejoined airily, "there is no inconvenience which I would notgladly bear in order to gratify your wish."

  "I shall have to pack my effects...."

  "Jeanne will help Inez, and a few things are easily packed. Youreffects shall follow in an ox-wagon; they will be two days on the way;so I pray you take what is required for your immediate needs and iseasily stowed in your saddle-bow. We shall have to make an early start,if you desire to be in Brussels by nightfall."

  "Oh! there is no hurry," she protested.

  "Ah? Then in that case I could escort you as far as Alost, and send acourier thence to your father, to meet you there the next day."

  She bit her lip and could have cried with vexation. At the presentmoment she hated him for so obviously wishing to be rid of her. She hadquite forgotten that she had ever wanted to go.

  "I shall be too tired to make an early start in the morning," she saidquite piteously. "Why it is close on early morning now."

  She leaned a little forward in order to listen, for just then the chimesof St. Bavon rang the half-hour after midnight. She still looked asmall, pale, slim ghost with one side of her exquisite face in shadow,the other but faintly illumined by the light from without. Hervexation, her indecision, were so plainly expressed in her eyes, that hemust indeed have been vastly dull or vastly indifferent not to have readher thoughts. Nevertheless, he said with the same calm airiness asbefore:

  "A few hours' rest will revive you, Madonna. And if we only go as faras Alost to-morrow, we need not start before midday."

  At this her pride was aroused. His indifference now amounted toinsolence. With a vigorous effort she swallowed her tears, for theywere very near the surface, and then she rose abruptly, with the air andmanners of a queen, looking down in her turn with haughty indifferenceon that abominable Netherlander whom she had never hated so thoroughlyas she did at this moment.

  "I thank you, Messire," she said coldly, "I pray you then to see thatall arrangements be complete for my journey as early as may be. I wouldwish to be in Brussels by nightfall, and half a dozen leagues or so doesnot frighten me."

  She rose with all that stateliness which was a part of herself andsuited her tall, graceful figure so admirably; as she did so she gavehim a curt nod such as she would have bestowed on a serving man. He toorose to his feet but he made no attempt to detain her. On the contrary,he at once busied himself with his tinder box, and relighted the littlelamp. Then he went to the door, unlocked it and held it open for her topass through.

  As she did so she took the lamp from him, and for one moment their handsmet. His were burning hot and hers quite cold--his fingers lingeredupon the satiny softness of hers.

  But she sailed past him without bestowing another glance upon him, withlittle head erect and eyes looking straight out before her. In one handshe held the lamp, with the other she was holding up the heavy folds ofher trailing gown, her tiny feet in velvet shoes made no sound as sheglided across the hall. Soon she was a mere silhouette with the lightjust playing faintly with the loose curls round her head and touchingthe lines of her shoulders and arms and one or two folds of her gown.She mounted the stairs slowly as if she was infinitely weary; Markwatched the graceful, ghostlike form gliding upwards until the gloom hadswallowed it up.

  Then he turned back into the room.

  VII

  The first thing that Mark did when he was alone was to close the door;then he struck a light and lit a candle. With it in his hand he wentinto the withdrawing-room and--having peered closely into the fourcorners of the room, as if he half-expected to see some night-prowlerthere--he placed the candle on the table, drew a bunch of keys from theinner pocket of his doublet, and going up to the bureau proceeded tounlock it just as Lenora had done.

  He gave one quick glance at the interior of the bureau, then he put upthe flap and once more turned the key in the lock.

  Having done this he stood for awhile quite still, his chin buried in
hishand, his broad shoulders bent, a deep, double furrow between his brows.From time to time a deep sigh escaped his lips, and his merry grey eyesalmost disappeared beneath the heavy frown. Then he seemed to shakehimself free from his obsession, he straightened out his tall figure andthrew back his head with a movement of pride and of defiance.

  He took up the candle and started to go out of the room, but on thethreshold he paused again and looked behind him. The table, the chairs,the bureau seemed in a strange weird way to be mocking him--they lookedso placid and so immovable--so stolid in the face of the terriblecalamity which had just fallen on this house.

  And suddenly Mark with a violent gesture threw the heavy candlestick tothe ground. The flame flickered as it fell and the taper rolled aboutgently for a while from side to side until it landed close to his feet.He smothered a curse and put his heel upon the taper, crushing the waxinto a shapeless mass; then with a curious groan, half of pain half ofbitter irony, he passed his hand once or twice across his brow.

  Slowly the glow of wrath faded from his eyes, a look of wonderfultenderness, coupled with gentle good-humour and kindliness softened therugged lines of his face. A whimsical smile played round the corners ofhis lips.

  "She must be wooed and she must be won," he murmured. "Mark, youlumbering fool, can you do it? You have less than twenty-four hours inwhich..."

  He sighed again and laughed softly to himself, shaking his headdubiously the while. Then he went out of the room and closed the doorsoftly behind him.

  CHAPTER IX

  A DIVIDED DUTY

  I

  Strange and conflicting were the feelings which ran riot throughLenora's soul when she once more found herself alone in her own room.Mortification held for a time undisputed sway--a sense of injury--ofhaving gone half-way to meet she knew not what and having been repulsed.She was quite sure that she hated her husband now, far more bitterlythan she had ever hated any one before--at the same time she feltrelieved that he at any rate had no part in the treachery which wasbeing hatched under his father's roof.

  One thing, however, gave her an infinite sense of relief. She was goingback to her father on the morrow. She would leave this house where shehad known nothing but sorrow and humiliation since first she entered it;above all she would never see those people again on whom she had beenspying!

  Yes! Spying!

  There was no other word for it; hideous as it was it expressed whatLenora had done. Oh! there was no sophistry about the girl. She wastoo proud, too pure to try and palliate what she had done, by shirkingto call it by its name. She had done a task which had been imposed onher by her King, her country, and her father. She had sworn to doit--sworn it on the deathbed of the only man who had ever loved her, theonly man whose voice and touch had thrilled her, the companion of herchildhood, her accepted lover and her kinsman.

  She had done it because God Himself through her father's and her King'sown mouth had ordered her to do it; and it was not for her--ignorant,unsophisticated, sinful mayhap--to question God's decrees. But when shethought back on the events of the past hour, she felt a shudder ofhorror slowly creeping along her spine.

  And she thanked God that He would allow her to leave this house forever, and for ever to turn her back on those whom she--sounwillingly--had betrayed.

  But she would not allow her mind to dwell on such morbid fancies. Therewas a great deal to be done ere the morning broke. Her task--if it wasto be fruitful--was not completed yet.

  She began by taking down a pair of metal candlesticks which stood on ashelf above the hearth and lighting the candles at a small lamp whichshe had brought up with her. These she placed upon the table; then shewent to the press where only a few hours ago Inez had ranged all herclothes and effects, her new gowns and linen. From among these things,she took a flat wallet in which were some sheets of paper, a quill andsmall inkhorn, also some wax for sealing letters down.

  She went to her task slowly and methodically, for she was unaccustomedto writing letters. In the convent they had taught her how to do it,and twice a year she had written to her father--once on New Year's Day,and once on the feast of San Juan--but the task before her was a farmore laborious one than she had ever undertaken with pen and paper.

  But she sat down, courageously, to write.

  She wrote an account of everything that she had seen, heard andexperienced in this house, from the moment when first she left her roomin the evening in order to seek companionship, until the moment when,having secured the packet of papers, she had relocked the bureau withher pass-key and started to go back to her room. What she did not setdown in writing was her subsequent meeting with her husband, for thathad no connection with the Prince of Orange or with conspiracies, andwas merely a humiliating episode in the life of a neglected bride.

  The grey dawn slowly creeping in through the leaded glass of her windowstill found her at her task. The candles had burned down low in theirsockets, their light--of a dim yellow colour--fought feebly against theincoming dawn. But Lenora felt no fatigue.

  She wrote in a small, cramped hand and covered four sheets of paper withclose writing. When she had finished, she read all that she had writtendown carefully through, made several corrections in the text and foldedthe sheets neatly together. Then she took from the bosom of her gownthe packet of papers which she had found in the bureau, put it togetherwith her own writing and enclosed everything in a clean sheet of papercarefully folded over. Round this she tied a piece of white ribbon, suchas she used for doing up her hair, and sealed it all down with wax.

  Finally, on the outside of this packet she wrote with a clear hand:

  "To don Juan de Vargas at his refidence in Brufsels. To be given untoHim with the Seal unbroken in the eyent of My death."

  II

  Lenora tired out with emotion and bodily exertion slept soundly for afew hours. When Inez came in, in the late morning to wait on her, sheordered the old woman to put up a few necessary effects in a smallleather valise, and to pack up all her things and all her clothes.

  "My father hath need of me for a few days," she said in response toInez' exclamation of astonishment. "We start this morning forBrussels."

  "For which the Lord be praised," ejaculated Inez piously, "for of allthe dull, miserable, uncomfortable houses that I ever was in in mylife..."

  "Hold your tongue, woman," broke in Lenora sharply, "and see to yourwork. You will never be done, if you talk so much."

  And Inez--more than ever astonished at this display of temper on thepart of a young mistress who had always been kind and gentle--hadperforce to continue her mutterings and her grumblings under her breath.

  Whilst the old woman laid out carefully upon the bed all the prettythings which she had stowed away in the presses only twenty-four hoursago, Lenora busied herself with yet another task which she had setherself, but which she had been too tired to accomplish in the night.

  She wrote a short letter to Laurence.

  "My DEVOTED FRIEND," she wrote, "You promifed Me a very little while agothat if ever I wanted You to do fomething for Me, I was only to fend Youthis ring and You would do whatever I afked. Now, in the name of OurLady, I adjure You to leave Ghent at once taking Your Mother with You.A grave danger threatens You both. I know that You have relatives inHaarlem. I entreat You--nay! I afk it of You as a fulfilment of Yourpromife to go to them at once with Your Mother. Your Father is in nodanger, and Mark will be efcorting Me to Brufsels, and I fhall try andkeep Him there until all danger is paft...."

  Having written thus far, she paused a moment, pen in hand, a frown ofdeep puzzlement and of indecision upon her brow. Then she continued ina firm hand:

  "It is Your Mother's and Your own complicity in the plot which is beinghatched in Ghent again ft the Duke of Alva which has brought Your livesin danger."

  She strewed the sand over her writing, then read
the letter carefullythrough. After which she took a ring from off her finger, enclosed itin the letter and sealed the latter down.

  "Inez!" she said.

  "Yes, my saint."

  "I shall be starting for Brussels within the hour."

  "Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the old woman. "I shall not be ready with thepacking. Why this hurry, my angel?"

  "Your not being ready, Inez, is of no consequence. I shall start withMessire van Rycke. You will follow on in the wagon."

  "But, my saint..."

  "Now do not talk so much, Inez," broke in Lenora impatiently; "if youadd to my anxieties by being quarrelsome and disobedient I shall surelyfall sick and die."

  Evidently the young girl knew exactly how to work on her faithful oldservant's temperament. Inez reduced to abject contrition by the thoughtthat she was rendering her darling anxious and sick, swore by everysaint in the calendar that she would bite off her tongue, toil like aslave and be as obedient as a cur, if only her darling angel would keepwell and cheerful and tell her what to do.

  "You must not fret about me, Inez," resumed Lenora as soon as the oldwoman's voluble apologies and protestations had somewhat subsided. "Myhusband will escort me as far as Brussels, and in my father's houselittle Pepita will wait on me till you come."

  "And if that flighty wench doesn't look after you properly..." beganInez menacingly.

  "You will make her suffer, I've no doubt," quoth Lenora dryly. "In themeanwhile, listen carefully, Inez, for there is something that I wantyou to do for me, which no one else but you can do."