Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated) (245 page)

‘And what are you to do?’ said Sol to her.

‘I am to wait at Corvsgate till you come to me.’

‘I can’t understand it,’ Sol muttered, with a gloomy face.  ‘There’s something wrong; and it was only to be expected; that’s what I say, Mr. Julian.’

‘If necessary I can take care of Miss Chickerel till you come,’ said Christopher.

‘Thank you,’ said Sol.  ‘Then I will return to you as soon as I can, at the “Castle” Inn, just ahead.  ‘Tis very awkward for you to be so burdened by us, Mr. Julian; but we are in a trouble that I don’t yet see the bottom of.’

‘I know,’ said Christopher kindly.  ‘We will wait for you.’

He then drove on with Picotee to the inn, which was not far off, and Sol returned again to Enckworth.  Feeling somewhat like a thief in the night, he zigzagged through the park, behind belts and knots of trees, until he saw the yew, dark and clear, as if drawn in ink upon the fair face of the mansion.  The way up to it was in a little cutting between shrubs, the door being a private entrance, sunk below the surface of the lawn, and invisible from other parts of the same front.  As soon as he reached it, Ethelberta opened it at once, as if she had listened for his footsteps.

She took him along a passage in the basement, up a flight of steps, and into a huge, solitary, chill apartment.  It was the ball-room.  Spacious mirrors in gilt frames formed panels in the lower part of the walls, the remainder being toned in sage-green.  In a recess between each mirror was a statue.  The ceiling rose in a segmental curve, and bore sprawling upon its face gilt figures of wanton goddesses, cupids, satyrs with tambourines, drums, and trumpets, the whole ceiling seeming alive with them.  But the room was very gloomy now, there being little light admitted from without, and the reflections from the mirrors gave a depressing coldness to the scene.  It was a place intended to look joyous by night, and whatever it chose to look by day.

‘We are safe here,’ said she.  ‘But we must listen for footsteps.  I have only five minutes: Lord Mountclere is waiting for me.  I mean to leave this place, come what may.’

‘Why?’ said Sol, in astonishment.

‘I cannot tell you — something has occurred.  God has got me in his power at last, and is going to scourge me for my bad doings — that’s what it seems like.  Sol, listen to me, and do exactly what I say.  Go to Anglebury, hire a brougham, bring it on as far as Little Enckworth: you will have to meet me with it at one of the park gates later in the evening — probably the west, at half-past seven.  Leave it at the village with the man, come on here on foot, and stay under the trees till just before six: it will then be quite dark, and you must stand under the projecting balustrade a little further on than the door you came in by.  I will just step upon the balcony over it, and tell you more exactly than I can now the precise time that I shall be able to slip out, and where the carriage is to be waiting.  But it may not be safe to speak on account of his closeness to me — I will hand down a note.  I find it is impossible to leave the house by daylight — I am certain to be pursued — he already suspects something.  Now I must be going, or he will be here, for he watches my movements because of some accidental words that escaped me.’

‘Berta, I shan’t have anything to do with this,’ said Sol.  ‘It is not right!’

‘I am only going to Rouen, to Aunt Charlotte!’ she implored.  ‘I want to get to Southampton, to be in time for the midnight steamer.  When I am at Rouen I can negotiate with Lord Mountclere the terms on which I will return to him.  It is the only chance I have of rooting out a scandal and a disgrace which threatens the beginning of my life here!  My letters to him, and his to me, can be forwarded through you or through father, and he will not know where I am.  Any woman is justified in adopting such a course to bring her husband to a sense of her dignity.  If I don’t go away now, it will end in a permanent separation.  If I leave at once, and stipulate that he gets rid of her, we may be reconciled.’

‘I can’t help you: you must stick to your husband.  I don’t like them, or any of their sort, barring about three or four, for the reason that they despise me and all my sort.  But, Ethelberta, for all that I’ll play fair with them.  No half-and-half trimming business.  You have joined ‘em, and ‘rayed yourself against us; and there you’d better bide.  You have married your man, and your duty is towards him.  I know what he is and so does father; but if I were to help you to run away now, I should scorn myself more than I scorn him.’

‘I don’t care for that, or for any such politics!  The Mountclere line is noble, and how was I to know that this member was not noble, too?  As the representative of an illustrious family I was taken with him, but as a man — I must shun him.’

‘How can you shun him?  You have married him!’

‘Nevertheless, I won’t stay!  Neither law nor gospel demands it of me after what I have learnt.  And if law and gospel did demand it, I would not stay.  And if you will not help me to escape, I go alone.’

‘You had better not try any such wild thing.’

The creaking of a door was heard.  ‘O Sol,’ she said appealingly, ‘don’t go into the question whether I am right or wrong — only remember that I am very unhappy.  Do help me — I have no other person in the world to ask!  Be under the balcony at six o’clock.  Say you will — I must go — say you will!’

‘I’ll think,’ said Sol, very much disturbed.  ‘There, don’t cry; I’ll try to be under the balcony, at any rate.  I cannot promise more, but I’ll try to be there.’

She opened in the panelling one of the old-fashioned concealed modes of exit known as jib-doors, which it was once the custom to construct without architraves in the walls of large apartments, so as not to interfere with the general design of the room.  Sol found himself in a narrow passage, running down the whole length of the ball-room, and at the same time he heard Lord Mountclere’s voice within, talking to Ethelberta.  Sol’s escape had been marvellous: as it was the viscount might have seen her tears.  He passed down some steps, along an area from which he could see into a row of servants’ offices, among them a kitchen with a fireplace flaming like an altar of sacrifice.  Nobody seemed to be concerned about him; there were workmen upon the premises, and he nearly matched them.  At last he got again into the shrubberies and to the side of the park by which he had entered.

On reaching Corvsgate he found Picotee in the parlour of the little inn, as he had directed.  Mr. Julian, she said, had walked up to the ruins, and would be back again in a few minutes.  Sol ordered the horse to be put in, and by the time it was ready Christopher came down from the hill.  Room was made for Sol by opening the flap of the dogcart, and Christopher drove on.

He was anxious to know the trouble, and Sol was not reluctant to share the burden of it with one whom he believed to be a friend.  He told, scrap by scrap, the strange request of Ethelberta.  Christopher, though ignorant of Ethelberta’s experience that morning, instantly assumed that the discovery of some concealed spectre had led to this precipitancy.

‘When does she wish you to meet her with the carriage?’

‘Probably at half-past seven, at the west lodge; but that is to be finally fixed by a note she will hand down to me from the balcony.’

‘Which balcony?’

‘The nearest to the yew-tree.’

‘At what time will she hand the note?’

‘As the Court clock strikes six, she says.  And if I am not there to take her instructions of course she will give up the idea, which is just what I want her to do.’

Christopher begged Sol to go.  Whether Ethelberta was right or wrong, he did not stop to inquire.  She was in trouble; she was too clear-headed to be in trouble without good reason; and she wanted assistance out of it.  But such was Sol’s nature that the more he reflected the more determined was he in not giving way to her entreaty.  By the time that they reached Anglebury he repented having given way so far as to withhold a direct refusal.

‘It can do no good,’ he said mournfully.  ‘It is better to nip her notion in its beginning.  She says she wants to fly to Rouen, and from there arrange terms with him.  But it can’t be done — she should have thought of terms before.’

Christopher made no further reply.  Leaving word at the ‘Red Lion’ that a man was to be sent to take the horse of him, he drove directly onwards to the station.

‘Then you don’t mean to help her?’ said Julian, when Sol took the tickets — one for himself and one for Picotee.

‘I serve her best by leaving her alone!’ said Sol.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘She has married him.’

‘She is in distress.’

‘She has married him.’

Sol and Picotee took their seats, Picotee upbraiding her brother.  ‘I can go by myself!’ she said, in tears.  ‘Do go back for Berta, Sol.  She said I was to go home alone, and I can do it!’

‘You must not.  It is not right for you to be hiring cabs and driving across London at midnight.  Berta should have known better than propose it.’

‘She was flurried.  Go, Sol!’

But her entreaty was fruitless.

‘Have you got your ticket, Mr. Julian?’ said Sol.  ‘I suppose we shall go together till we get near Melchester?’

‘I have not got my ticket yet — I’ll be back in two minutes.’

The minutes went by, and Christopher did not reappear.  The train moved off: Christopher was seen running up the platform, as if in a vain hope to catch it.

‘He has missed the train,’ said Sol.  Picotee looked disappointed, and said nothing.  They were soon out of sight.

‘God forgive me for such a hollow pretence!’ said Christopher to himself.  ‘But he would have been uneasy had he known I wished to stay behind.  I cannot leave her in trouble like this!’

He went back to the ‘Red Lion’ with the manner and movement of a man who after a lifetime of desultoriness had at last found something to do.  It was now getting late in the afternoon.  Christopher ordered a one-horse brougham at the inn, and entering it was driven out of the town towards Enckworth as the evening shades were beginning to fall.  They passed into the hamlet of Little Enckworth at half-past five, and drew up at a beer-house at the end.  Jumping out here, Julian told the man to wait till he should return.

Thus far he had exactly obeyed her orders to Sol.  He hoped to be able to obey them throughout, and supply her with the aid her brother refused.  He also hoped that the change in the personality of her confederate would make no difference to her intention.  That he was putting himself in a wrong position he allowed, but time and attention were requisite for such analysis: meanwhile Ethelberta was in trouble.  On the one hand was she waiting hopefully for Sol; on the other was Sol many miles on his way to town; between them was himself.

He ran with all his might towards Enckworth Park, mounted the lofty stone steps by the lodge, saw the dark bronze figures on the piers through the twilight, and then proceeded to thread the trees.  Among these he struck a light for a moment: it was ten minutes to six.  In another five minutes he was panting beneath the walls of her house.

Enckworth Court was not unknown to Christopher, for he had frequently explored that spot in his Sandbourne days.  He perceived now why she had selected that particular balcony for handing down directions; it was the only one round the house that was low enough to be reached from the outside, the basement here being a little way sunk in the ground.

He went close under, turned his face outwards, and waited.  About a foot over his head was the stone floor of the balcony, forming a ceiling to his position.  At his back, two or three feet behind, was a blank wall — the wall of the house.  In front of him was the misty park, crowned by a sky sparkling with winter stars.  This was abruptly cut off upward by the dark edge of the balcony which overhung him.

It was as if some person within the room above had been awaiting his approach.  He had scarcely found time to observe his situation when a human hand and portion of a bare arm were thrust between the balusters, descended a little way from the edge of the balcony, and remained hanging across the starlit sky.  Something was between the fingers.  Christopher lifted his hand, took the scrap, which was paper, and the arm was withdrawn.  As it withdrew, a jewel on one of the fingers sparkled in the rays of a large planet that rode in the opposite sky.

Light steps retreated from the balcony, and a window closed.  Christopher had almost held his breath lest Ethelberta should discover him at the critical moment to be other than Sol, and mar her deliverance by her alarm.  The still silence was anything but silence to him; he felt as if he were listening to the clanging chorus of an oratorio.  And then he could fancy he heard words between Ethelberta and the viscount within the room; they were evidently at very close quarters, and dexterity must have been required of her.  He went on tiptoe across the gravel to the grass, and once on that he strode in the direction whence he had come.  By the thick trunk of one of a group of aged trees he stopped to get a light, just as the Court clock struck six in loud long tones.  The transaction had been carried out, through her impatience possibly, four or five minutes before the time appointed.

The note contained, in a shaken hand, in which, however, the well-known characters were distinguishable, these words in pencil:

‘At half-past seven o’clock.  Just outside the north lodge; don’t fail.’

This was the time she had suggested to Sol as that which would probably best suit her escape, if she could escape at all.  She had changed the place from the west to the north lodge — nothing else.  The latter was certainly more secluded, though a trifle more remote from the course of the proposed journey; there was just time enough and none to spare for fetching the brougham from Little Enckworth to the lodge, the village being two miles off.  The few minutes gained by her readiness at the balcony were useful now.  He started at once for the village, diverging somewhat to observe the spot appointed for the meeting.  It was excellently chosen; the gate appeared to be little used, the lane outside it was covered with trees, and all around was silent as the grave.  After this hasty survey by the wan starlight, he hastened on to Little Enckworth.