Читать книгу The Great White Army (Historical Novel) - Pemberton Max - Страница 8

I returned to the room, and, crossing it swiftly, had my hand already upon the key of the door when a new sound arrested me.

The sound proceeded from the gallery of the great staircase. I heard a key turned and a door creak upon its hinges. A moment later the faint light of a candle illumined the staircase, and the figure of a woman appeared.

It was all very sudden. But the half of a minute, I suppose, elapsed between the first sound of the key and the appearance of the beautiful creature who now stood in the gallery; yet to me it seemed an age of waiting. There I stood motionless, watching that vision which the candle revealed—the vision of the sleeper awakened, and a woman's cloak thrown about her shoulders.

"Good God!" I cried, "the dead have come to life!" Beyond all doubt this must be the sister of the murdered man.

"Mademoiselle," I said, taking a step forward. And at that she cried out in terror and let the candle drop. Instantly I strode to her side and caught both her hands, for it was evident she was swooning.

"Mademoiselle," I repeated, "I am a Frenchman, and came to this house to help your brother. Help me in your turn. There are men in the garden, and they are coming in—we must be quick, mademoiselle."

She shivered a little in my arms and then pressed forward towards me.

"I am Valerie," she murmured in a low voice, as though I would recognise the name. "My brother is dead; François the steward killed him. Oh, take me away—take me from this place."

I told her that I would do so, that my only desire was to escape from the house if I could.

"But, mademoiselle," said I, "every door is locked. I cannot find the way, and the brigands are returning. We have no time to lose."

The tidings appeared to rouse her. She passed her hand across her forehead and, staggering forward a little way, stood very still as though in thought.

I shall never forget that picture of her as the moonbeams came down from the dome above, and she stood there in a robe of white and silver. A more beautiful thing I have never seen upon God's earth. The story of her brother's death appeared no longer a mystery.

"My God!" she cried, "they are in the house!"

We bent over the balustrade together and listened to the sounds. There was a crashing as of woodwork, and then the hum of voices. Instantly upon that there came the heavy trampling of feet. Those who entered the house were not afraid—they were even laughing as they came.

"What shall we do?" she cried. "What shall we do?"

I caught her hand and dragged her back from the railing.

"There must be some room which will hide us," said I. "You know the way. Think, child; is there no such place?"

She did not answer me, but turned and led the way up the narrow flight of stairs by which she had appeared. Here was her bedroom.

We passed through it without delay and entered an oratory which lay at the head of a second flight of stairs immediately beyond. Here she shut a heavy door of oak and bolted it. The only light in the room flickered from a golden lamp before the altar, and as far as I could see there was no way out other than the door by which we had come in.

Now, this chapel was built in one of the eastern turrets of the house. I came to learn later that the owner of the place was Prince Boris, a man of some culture and of European notoriety, and that, while he was himself an orthodox Greek, he had permitted this use of a secret chapel to the young Frenchwoman who now knelt before its altar.

Wonderfully decorated in gold and silver, with rare pictures upon its walls and superb gems in the crucifixes above the tabernacle, the whole bore witness to a man of Catholic sympathies and abundant wealth. At any other time, no doubt, I would have made much of this hidden chapel and of its treasures; but the hour was not propitious, and, glad of its momentous security, I turned to the girl and would have questioned her. She, however, was already at her prayers, nor did she seem to hear me when I addressed her. A second question merely caused her to turn her head and cry, "Hush! they will hear us!" And so she went on praying—I doubt not for her dead brother's soul—while I paced up and down in as great a state of anger and of self-reproach as I had ever been in all my life.

What a situation for a surgeon-major of the Guards—to be locked up here in this puny chapel with a houseful of assassins below, and my own regiment not a stone's throw from the gate! And yet that was the truth of it, and anon I heard some of the robbers come leaping up the stairs, and presently they began to beat upon the door of the chapel, and I knew that they carried axes in their hands.