Checkmate

“Pray telegraph immediately to say whether Mr. Longcluse is at his house, Bolton Street, Piccadilly.”

No answer reached him that night; but in the morning he found a telegram dated 11.30 of the previous night, which said —

“Mr. Longcluse is ill at his house at Richmond – better to-day.”

To this promptly he replied —

“See him, if possible, immediately at Richmond, and say how he looks. The surrender of the lease in Crown Alley will be an excuse. See him if there. Ascertain with certainty where. Telegraph immediately.”

No answer had reached Uncle David at three o'clock P.M.; he had despatched his message at nine. He was impatient, and walked to the telegraph office to make inquiries, and to grumble. He sent another message in querulous and peremptory laconics. But no answer came till near twelve o'clock, when the following was delivered to him: —

“Yours came while out. Received at 6 P.M. Saw Longcluse at Richmond. Looks seedy. Says he is all right now.”

He read this twice or thrice, and lowered the hand whose fingers held it by the corner, and looked up, taking a turn or two about the room; and he thought what a precious fool he must have appeared to Monsieur St. Ange, and then again, with another view of that gentleman's character, what an escape he had possibly had.

So there was no distraction any longer; and he directed his mind now exclusively upon the distinct object of securing possession of the moulds from which the masks were taken; and for many reasons it is not likely that very much will come of his search.

CHAPTER LXXXIV

AT MORTLAKE

Events do not stand still at Mortlake. It is now about four o'clock on a fine autumnal afternoon. Since we last saw her, Alice Arden has not once sought to pass the hall-door. It would not have been possible to do so. No one passed that barrier without a scrutiny, and the aid of the key of the man who kept guard at the door, as closely as ever did the office at the hatch of the debtor's prison. The suite of five rooms up-stairs, to which Alice is now strictly confined, is not only comfortable, but luxurious. It had been fitted up for his own use by Sir Reginald years before he exchanged it for those rooms down-stairs which, as he grew older, he preferred.

Levi every day visited the house, and took a report of all that was said and planned up-stairs, in a tête-à-tête with Phœbe Chiffinch, in the great parlour among the portraits. The girl was true to her young and helpless mistress, and was in her confidence, outwitting the rascally Jew, who every time, by Longcluse's order, bribed her handsomely for the information that was misleading him.

From Phœbe the young lady concealed no pang of her agony. Well was it for her that in their craft they had exchanged the comparatively useless Miss Diaper for this poor girl, on whose apprenticeship to strange ways, and a not very fastidious life, they relied for a clever and unscrupulous instrument. Perhaps she had more than the cunning they reckoned upon. “But I 'av' took a liking to ye, Miss, and they'll not make nothing of Phœbe Chiffinch.”

Alice was alone in her room, and Phœbe Chiffinch came running up the great staircase singing, and through the intervening suite of rooms, entered that in which her young mistress awaited her return. Her song falters, and dies into a strange ejaculation, as she passes the door.

“The Lord be thanked, that's over and done!” she exclaims, with a face pale from excitement.

“Sit down, Phœbe; you are trembling; you must drink a little water. Are you well?”

“La! quite well, Miss,” said Phœbe, more cheerily, and then burst into tears. She gulped down some of the water which the frightened young lady held to her lips, and recovering quickly, she gets on her feet, and says impatiently – “I'm sure, Miss, I don't know what makes me such a fool; but I'm all right now, Ma'am; and you asked me, the other day, about the big key of the old back-door lock that I showed you, and I said, though it could not open no door, I would find a use for it, yet. So I 'av', Miss.”

“Go on; I recollect perfectly.”

“You remember the bit of parchment I asked you to write the words on yesterday evening, Miss? They was these: ‘Passage on the left, from main passage to housekeeper's room,’ etc. Well, I was with Mr. Vargers when he locked that passage up, and it leads to a door in the side of the 'ouse, which it opens into the grounds; and in that houter door he left a key, and only took with him the key of the door at the other end, which it opens from the 'ousekeeper's passage. So all seemed sure – sure it is, so long as you can't get into that side passage, which it is locked.”

“I understand; go on, Phœbe.”

“Well, Miss, the reason I vallied that key I showed you so much, was because it's as like the key of the side passage as one egg is to another, only it won't turn in the lock. So, as that key I must 'av', I tacked the bit of parchment you wrote to the 'andle of the other, which the two matches exactly, and I didn't tell you, Miss, thinking what a taking you'd be in, but I went down to try if I could not take it for the right one.”

“It was kind of you not to tell me; go on,” said the young lady.

“Well, Miss, I 'ad the key in my pocket, ready to change; and I knew well how 'twould be, if I was found out – I'd get the sack, or be locked up 'ere myself, more likely, and no more chances for you. Mr. Vargers was in the room – the porter's room they calls it now – and in I goes. I did not see no one there, but Vargers and he was lookin' sly, I thought, and him and Mr. Boult has been talking me over, I fancy, and they don't quite trust me. So I began to talk, wheedling him the best I could to let me go into town for an hour; 'twas only for talk, for well I knew I shouldn't get to go; but nothing but chaff did he answer. And then, says I, is Mr. Levice come yet, and he said, he is, but he has a second key of the back door and he may 'av' let himself hout. Well, I says, thinking to make Vargers jealous, he's a werry pleasant gentleman, a bit too pleasant for me, and I'm a-going to the kitchen, and I'd rayther he wastnt there, smoking as he often does, and talking nonsense, when I'm in it. There's others that's nicer, to my fancy, than him – so, jest you go and see, and I'll take care of heverything 'ere till you come back – and don't you be a minute. There was the keys, lying along the chimney-piece, at my left, and the big table in front, and nothing to hinder me from changing mine for his, but Vargers' eye over me. Little I thought he'd 'av' bin so ready to do as I said. But he smiled to himself-like, and he said he'd go and see. So away he went; and I listens at the door till I heard his foot go on the tiles of the passage that goes down by the 'ousekeeper's room, and the billiard-room, to the kitchen; and then on tip-toe, as quick as light, I goes to the chimney-piece, and without a sound, I takes the very key I wanted in my fingers, and drops it into my pocket, but putting down the other in its place, I knocked down the big leaden hink-bottle, and didn't it make a bang on the floor – and a terrible hoarse voice roars out from the tother side of the table – ‘What the devil are you doing there, huzzy?’ Saving your presence, Miss; and up gets Mr. Boult, only half awake, looking as mad as Bedlam, and I thought I would have fainted away! Who'd 'av' fancied he was in the room? He had his 'ead on the table, and the cloak over it, and I think, when they 'eard me a-coming downstairs, they agreed he should 'ide hisself so, to catch me, while Vargers would leave the room, to try if I would meddle with the keys, or the like – and while Mr. Boult was foxing, he fell asleep in right earnest. Warn't it a joke, Miss? So I brazent it hout, Miss, the best I could, and I threatened to complain to Mr. Levi, and said I'd stay no longer, to be talked to, that way, by sich as he. And Boult could not tell Vargers he was asleep, and so I saw him count over the keys, and up I ran, singing.”

By this time the girl was on her knees, concealing the key between the beds, with the others.

“Thank God, Phœbe, you have got it! But, oh! all that is before us still!”

“Yes, there's work enough, Miss. I'll not be so frightened no more. Tom Chiffinch, that beat the Finchley pet, after ninety good rounds, was my brother, and I won't show nothing but pluck, Miss, from this out – you'll see.”

Alice had proposed writing to summon her friends to her aid. But Phœbe protested against that extremely perilous measure. Her friends were away from London; who could say where? And she believed that the attempt to post the letters would miscarry, and that they were certain to fall into the hands of their jailors. She insisted that Alice should rely on the simple plan of escape from Mortlake.

Martha Tansey, it is true, was anxious. She wondered how it was that she had not once heard from her young mistress since her journey to Yorkshire. And a passage in a letter which had reached her, from the old servant, at David Arden's town house, who had been mystified by Sir Richard, perplexed and alarmed her further, by inquiring how Miss Alice looked, and whether she had been knocked up by the journey to Arden on Wednesday.

So matters stood.

Each evening Mr. Levi was in attendance, and this day, according to rule, she went down to the grand old dining-room.

“How'sh Miss Chiffinch?” said the little Jew, advancing to meet her; “how'sh her grashe the duchess, in the top o' the houshe? Ish my Lady Mount-garret ash proud ash ever?”

“Well, I do think, Mr. Levice, there's a great change; she's bin growing better the last two days, and she's got a letter last night that's seemed to please her.”

“Wha'at letter?”

“The letter you gave me last night for her.”

“O-oh! Ah! I wonder – eh? Do you happen to know what wa'azh in that ere letter?” he asked, in an insinuating whisper.

“Not I, Mr. Levice. She don't trust me not as far as you'd throw a bull by the tail. You might 'av' managed that better. You must 'a frightened her some way about me. I try to be agreeable all I can, but she won't a-look at me.”

“Well, I don't want to know, I'm sure. Did she talk of going out of doors since?”

“No; there's a frost in the hair still, and she says till that's gone she won't stir out.”

“That frost will last a bit, I guess. Any more newshe?”

“Nothing.”

“Wait a minute 'ere,” said Mr. Levi, and he went into the room beyond this, where she knew there were writing materials.

She waited some time, and at length took the liberty of sitting down. She was kept a good while longer. The sun went down; the drowsy crimson that heralds night overspread the sky. She coughed; several fits of coughing she tried at short intervals. Had Mr. Levice, as she called him, forgotten her? He came out at length in the twilight.

“Shtay you 'ere a few minutes more,” said that gentleman, as he walked thoughtfully through the room and paused. “You wazh asking yesterday where izh Sir Richard Arden. Well, hezh took hishelf off to Harden in Yorkshire, and he'll not be 'ome again for a week.”

Having delivered this piece of intelligence, he nodded, and slowly went to the hall, and closed the door carefully as he left the room. She followed to the door and listened. There was plainly a little fuss going on in the hall. She heard feet in motion, and low talking. She was curious and would have peeped, but the door was secured on the outside. The twilight had deepened, and for the first time she saw that a ray of candle-light came through the key-hole from the inner room. She opened the door softly, and saw a gentleman writing at the table. He was quite alone. He turned, and rose: a tall, slight gentleman, with a singular countenance that startled her.

“You are Phœbe Chiffinch,” said a deep, clear voice, sternly, as the gentleman pointed towards her with the plume end of the pen he held in his fingers. “I am Mr. Longcluse. It is I who have sent you two pounds each day by Levi. I hear you have got it all right.”

The girl curtseyed, and said “Yes, Sir,” at the second effort, for she was startled. He had taken out and opened his pocket-book.

“Here are ten pounds,” and he handed her a rustling new note by the corner. “I'll treat you liberally, but you must speak truth, and do exactly as you are ordered by Levi.” She curtseyed again. There was something in that gentleman that frightened her awfully.

“If you do so, I mean to give you a hundred pounds when this business is over. I have paid you as my servant, and if you deceive me I'll punish you; and there are two or three little things they complain of at the ‘Guy of Warwick,’ and” (he swore a hard oath) “you shall hear of them if you do.”

She curtseyed, and felt, not angry, as she would if any one else had said it, but frightened, for Mr. Longcluse's was a name of power at Mortlake.

“You gave Miss Arden a letter last night. You know what was in it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What was it?”

“An offer of marriage from you, Sir.”

“Yes: how do you know that?”

“She told me, please, Sir.”

“How did she take it? Come, don't be afraid.”

“I'd say it pleased her well, Sir.”

He looked at her in much surprise, and was silent for a time.

He repeated his question, and receiving a similar answer, reflected on it.

“Yes; it is the best way out of her troubles; she begins to see that,” he said, with a strange smile.

He walked to the chimney-piece, and leaned on it; and forgot the presence of Phœbe. She was too much in awe to make any sign. Turning he saw her, suddenly.

“You will receive some directions from Mr. Levi; take care you understand and execute them.”

He touched the bell, and Levi opened the door; and she and that person walked together to the foot of the stair, where in a low tone they talked.

CHAPTER LXXXV

THE CRISIS

When Phœbe Chiffinch returned to Alice's room, it was about ten o'clock; a brilliant moon was shining on the old trees, and throwing their shadows on the misty grass. The landscape from these upper windows was sad and beautiful, and above the distant trees that were softened by the haze of night rose the silvery spire of the old church, in whose vault her father sleeps with a cold brain, thinking no more of mortgages and writs.

Alice had been wondering what had detained her so long, and by the time she arrived had become very much alarmed.

Relieved when she entered, she was again struck with fear when Phœbe Chiffinch had come near enough to enable her to see her face. She was pale, and with her eyes fixed on her, raised her finger in warning, and then glanced at the door which she had just closed.

Her young mistress got up and approached her, also growing pale, for she perceived that danger was at the door.

“I wish there was bolts to these doors. They've got other keys. Never mind; I know it all now,” she whispered, as she walked softly up to the end of the room farthest from the door. “I said I'd stand by you, my lady; don't you lose heart. They're coming here in about a hour.”

“For God's sake, what is it?” said Alice faintly, her eyes gazing wider and wider, and her very lips growing white.

“There's work before us, my lady, and there must be no fooling,” said the girl, a little sternly. “Mr. Levi, please, has told me a deal, and all they expect from me, the villains. Are you strong enough to take your part in it, Miss? If not, best be quiet; best for both.”

“Yes; quite strong, Phœbe. Are we to leave this?”

“I hope, Miss. We can but try.”

“There's light, Phœbe,” she said, glancing with a shiver from the window. “It's a bright night.”

“I wish 'twas darker; but mind you what I say. Longcluse is to be here in a hour. Your brother's coming, God help you! and that little limb o' Satan, that black-eyed, black-nailed, dirty little Jew, Levice! They're not in town, they're out together near this, where a man is to meet them with writings. There's a licence got, Christie Vargers saw Mr. Longcluse showing it to your brother, Sir Richard; and I daren't tell Vargers that I'm for you. He'd never do nothing to vex Mr. Levice, he daren't. There's a parson here, a rum 'un, you may be sure. I think I know something about him; Vargers does. He's in the room now, only one away from this, next the stair head, and Vargers is put to keep the door in the same room. All the doors along, from one room to t'other, is open, from this to the stairs, except the last, which Vargers has the key of it; and all the doors opening from the rooms to the gallery is locked, so you can't get out o' this 'ere without passing through the one where parson is, and Mr. Vargers, please.”

“I'll speak to the clergyman,” whispered Alice, extending her hands towards the far door; “God be thanked, there's one good man here, and he'll save me!”

“La, bless you child! why that parson had his two pen'orth long ago, and spends half his nights in the lock-up.”

“I don't understand, Phœbe.”

“He had two years. He's bin in jail, Miss, Vargers says, as often as he has fingers and toes; and he's at his brandy and water as I came through, with his feet on the fender, and his pipe in his mouth. He's here to marry you, please 'm, to Mr. Longcluse, and there's all the good he'll do you; and your brother will give you away, Miss, and Levice and Vargers for witnesses, and me I dessay. It's every bit harranged, and they don't care the rinsing of a tumbler what you say or do; for through with it, slicks, they'll go, and say 'twas all right, in spite of all you can do; and who is there to make a row about it? Not you, after all's done.”

“We must get away! I'll lose my life, or I'll escape!”

Phœbe looked at her in silence. I think she was measuring her strength, and her nerve, for the undertaking.

“Well, 'm, it's time it was begun. The time is come. Here's your cloak, Miss, I'll tie a handkerchief over my head, if we get out; and here's the three keys, betwixt the bed and the mattress.”

After a moment's search on her knees, she produced them.

“The big one and this I'll keep, and you'll manage this other, please; take it in your right hand – you must use it first. It opens the far door of the room where Vargers is, and if you get through, you'll be at the stair-head then. Don't you come in after me, till you see I have Vargers engaged another way. Go through as light as a bird flies, and take the key out of the door, at the other end, when you unlock it; and close it softly, else he'll see it, and have the house about our ears; and you know the big window at the drawing-room lobby; wait in the hollow of that window till I come. Do you understand, please, Miss?”

Alice did perfectly.

“Hish-sh!” said the maid, with a prolonged caution.

A dead silence followed; for a minute – several minutes neither seemed to breathe.

Phœbe whispered at length —

“Now, Miss, are you ready?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and her heart beat for a moment as if it would suffocate her, and then was still; an icy chill stole over her, and as on tip-toe she followed Phœbe, she felt as if she glided without weight or contact, like a spirit.

Through a dark room they passed, very softly, first, a little light under the door showed that there were candles in the next. They halted and listened. Phœbe opened the door and entered.

Standing back in the shadow, Alice saw the room and the people in it, distinctly. The parson was not the sort of contraband clergyman she had fancied, by any means, but a thin hectic man of some four-and-thirty years, only looking a little dazed by brandy and water, and far gone in consumption. Handsome thin features, and a suit of seedy black, and a white choker, indicated that lost gentleman, who was crying silently as he smoked his pipe, I daresay a little bit tipsy, gazing into the fire, with his fatal brandy and water at his elbow.

“Eh! Mr. Vargers, smoking after all I said to you!” murmured Miss Phœbe severely, advancing toward her round-shouldered sweetheart, with her finger raised.

Mr. Vargers replied pleasantly; and as this tender “chaff” flew lightly between the interlocutors, the parson looked still into the fire, hearing nothing of their play and banter, but sunk deep in the hell of his sorrowful memory.

As Phœbe talked on, Vargers grew agreeable and tender, and in about three minutes after her own entrance, she saw with a thrill, imperfectly, just with the “corner of her eye,” something pass behind them swiftly toward the outer door. The crisis, then, had come. For a moment there seemed a sudden light before her eyes, and then a dark mist; in another she recovered herself.

Vargers stood up suddenly.

“Hullo! what's gone with the door there?” said he, sternly ending their banter.

If he had been looking on her with an eye of suspicion, he might have seen her colour change. But Phœbe was quick-witted and prompt, and saying, in hushed tones —

“Well, dear, ain't I a fool, leaving the lady's door open? Look ye, now, Mr. Vargers, she's lying fast asleep on her bed; and that's the reason I took courage to come here and ask a favour. But I'd rayther you'd lock her door, for if she waked and missed me she'd be out here, and all the fat in the fire.”

“I dessay you're right, Miss,” said he, with a more business-like gallantry; and as he shut the door and fumbled in his pocket for the key, she stole a look over her shoulder.

The prisoner had got through, and the door at the other end was closed.

With a secret shudder, she thanked God in her heart, while with a laugh she slapped Mr. Vargers' lusty shoulder, and said wheedlingly, “And now for the favour, Mr. Vargers: you must let me down to the kitchen for five minutes.”

A little more banter and sparring followed, which ended in Vargers kissing her, in spite of the usual squall and protest; and on his essaying to let her out, and finding the door unlocked, he swore that it was well she asked, as he'd 'av' got it hot and heavy for forgetting to lock it, when the “swells” came up. The door closed upon her: so far the enterprise was successful.

She stood at the head of the stairs; she went down a few steps, and listened; then cautiously she descended. The moon shone resplendent through the great window at the landing below the drawing-room. It was that at which Uncle David had paused to listen to the minstrelsy of Mr. Longcluse.

Here in that flood of white light stands Alice Arden, like a statue of horror. The girl, without saying a word, takes her by the cold hand, and leads her quickly down to the arch that opens on the hall.

Just as they reached this point, the door of the room, at the right of the hall door, occupied by Mr. Boult, who did duty as porter, opens, and stepping out with a candle in his hand, he calls in a savage tone —

“What's the row?”

Phœbe pushed Alice's hand in the direction of the passage that leads to the housekeeper's room. For a moment the young lady stands irresolute. Her presence of mind returns. She noiselessly takes the hint, and enters the corridor; Phœbe advances to answer his challenge.

“Well, Mr. Boult, and what is the row, pray?” she pertly inquires, walking up to that gentleman, who eyes her sulkily, raising his candle, and displaying as he does so a big patch of red on each cheek-bone, indicative of the brandy, of which he smells potently.

“What's the row? —you're the row! What brings you down here, Miss Chivvige?”

“My legs! There's your answer, you cross boy.” She laughed wheedlingly.

“Then walk you up again, and be d – d.”

“On! Mr. Boult.”

“P! Miss Phibbie.”

Mr. Boult was speaking thick, and plainly was in no mood to stand nonsense.

“Now Mr. Boult, where's the good of making yourself disagreeable?”

“Look at this 'ere,” he replied, grimly holding a mighty watch, of some white metal, under her eyes – “you know your clock as well as me, Miss Chavvinge. The gentlemen will be in this 'ere awl in twenty minutes.”

“All the more need to be quick, Mr. Boult, Sir, and why will you keep me 'ere talking?” she replies.

“You'll go up them 'ere stairs, young 'oman; you'll not put a foot in the kitchen to-night,” he says more doggedly.

“Well, we'll see how it will be when they comes and I tells 'em – ‘Please, gentlemen, the young lady, which you told me most particular to humour her in everything she might call for, wished a cup of tea, which I went down, having locked her door first, which here is the key of it,’” and she held it up for the admiration of Mr. Boult, “‘which I consider it the most importantest key in the 'ouse; and though the young lady, she lay on her bed a-gasping, poor thing, for her cup of tea, Mr. Boult stopt me in the awl, and swore she shouldn't have a drop, which I could not get it, and went hup again, for he smelt all over of brandy, and spoke so wiolent, I daren't do as you desired.’”