Chapter XXXIII The Hut on the Hillside
No speed that the driver could get out of the mettlesome horses was swift enough to keep pace with my fears or to ease the pricking of my alarms.
Our route to Escorias lay along the road where I had followed and rescued the young King, and as we flew along, bumping, jolting and swaying, covering the level road at the gallop, dashing down and rattling up the hills, I could measure the distance by the different spots which were fixed in my memory by the incidents of that memorable ride.
“How far is it beyond Podrida?” I asked Rubio, having to shout the question to make myself heard amid the clatter and racket of the jolting carriage.
“At this pace, half an hour,” came the reply, in jerks. “If we reach there without a smash.” My answer was to lean out once more and shout to the driver to hurry; and then I threw myself back in my seat, folded my arms, and yielded myself up anew to the torture of my distracting thoughts.
I tried to estimate how long a start Livenza would have of us, how far he could be in advance, and what time he would have for the execution of the plan he had formed, whatever that might be. And my lowest calculation alarmed me.
The murder had been committed about two hours and a half before I had got to Quesada’s house; I had been there about one hour; and thus Livenza would have three and a half hours’ start of us. From this we might deduct the time he would spend in Madrid before setting out for Escorias; but as he would be in fear of discovery, I dared not hope that he would remain a minute longer than would be necessary to procure a horse or some kind of conveyance. His own horses would be at his immediate disposal, of course; and if he had had them at hand, he might have started the instant after he had shot his enemy. This would give him quite three hours’ start, even allowing for the quicker pace at which we were following in pursuit. And in three hours what could he not do?
There was, of course, room to hope that he might have had to return to his house to make some preparations for his flight; and I harassed and worried myself with a hundred speculations about this: whether he would not have gone to Quesada’s with everything in readiness for flight; or whether he had thought that he would be taken at once, or even killed by Quesada, and had thus set his affairs in order before going. To speculate on his actions in such a case, was, however, of no more value than to count the waves on the seashore; and I got no further than an ever-consuming desire for yet greater speed.
“Close there now, senor,” cried Rubio, at last, looking out of the window into the gloom. “A few minutes.”
“Thank Heaven for that,” I exclaimed, fervently.
“And that we’ve escaped a smash at that mad pace.” We had left the high road, and were going less rapidly along a narrow country lane, and could speak without so much effort. “It’s going to be a wild night,” he added.
“I wish we were there, or rather that we could have been there two hours ago.”
“I think we shall be in time, senor. The place is not easy to find. I think it will be all right there.”
When the carriage stopped I sprang out, followed by Rubio, and hurried up to the house, which lay back some distance from the lane, along a rough, ill-kept carriage drive.
“It’s evidently all right, senor. If anything had happened we should see some signs of it,” said my companion, as he knocked loudly. A man opened the door, and touched his forehead as he recognised Rubio. “Good evening, Carlos. All well here?”
“All well, Senor Rubio;” and at the word I breathed a deep sigh of relief.
“The senorita is well, Carlos?”
“Quite well, Senor Rubio, and in her rooms.”
“No visitors, I suppose?” was asked, casually.
“Yes, senor; Colonel Livenza, from his Excellency, has been here.”
“Been here?” I cried, in surprise. “Tell us, quickly, what you mean?”
“He came with a letter from his Excellency, to see the senorita. He brought some urgent news, he said, and he was with her about half an hour, and then left.”
“How long ago was that?”
“He has been gone maybe an hour, or perhaps less.”
“Quick work,” muttered Rubio. “Show the senor here to the senorita’s rooms,” he added, to the man. “Shall I go with you, senor?”
“No, wait, please,” I answered, following the man upstairs, my heart beating quickly at the thought of seeing Sarita again. He went up to the floor above, the rooms of which were shut off from the staircase by a door which I saw had been recently placed there. This he unlocked and stood aside for me to pass.
“The first door on the right is the sitting-room, senor,” he said, respectfully, and I went to it and knocked. Getting no reply, I knocked again loudly; and again failing to get any response, my fears, that after all something was wrong, began to revive. I knocked a third time, and still getting no answer tried to open the door, and found it locked on the inside. I called Sarita, loudly, by name then, knowing my voice would re-assure her, and when no response came, I tried the other doors and found them locked like the first, on the inside.
I called up Rubio then.
“Does the senorita generally lock her doors?” I asked Carlos.
“I have never known her to do it before, senor.”
“Something is wrong; we must break our way in;” and I sent Carlos down at once for tools.
“What can it mean?” he said, in a tone of dismay; and as soon as the tools were brought he set about forcing an entrance.
“Did you see the senorita after Colonel Livenza left?” I asked the man.
“My wife did, senor. She said she was tired, and complained of a headache, and that she would go to bed early, and asked us to keep the house quiet and not disturb her.”
“She has gone,” I exclaimed, as the meaning of it all rushed upon me. “He brought with him the means for her to escape, and under some pretext induced her to fly, after she had lulled the suspicions of these two with this plea.”
And so it proved. The rooms were empty; and an open window, from which hung a knotted rope fastened to a bedstead, told us plainly enough how the escape had been made. For a moment my heart sank with dismay at the sight; but I rallied under pressure of the need for instant action.
“We must follow and find them,” I said, promptly. “Which way can they have taken? It is clear that he induced her to escape, and while they were together they were making these preparations. He left about an hour ago, and as the senorita had then to complete her arrangements she cannot have been gone very long. How can we trace them?” A question to Carlos sufficed to show that they must have left by the lane we had come; for it led nowhere but to the house. They had not passed us on the road, and it was clear, therefore, that they must have turned in the opposite direction from the capital.
There were two horses in the stable, and I had these saddled, and rode off with Rubio, ordering the carriage with Rubio’s assistant to follow us at such pace as the coachman could get out of the smoking, lathered animals who had brought us so well from Madrid.
At first the trail was broad and easy to follow. We had scarcely turned into the high road when we met some men, who told us enough to show that Livenza and his companion were on horseback, riding at a moderate pace, and were not more than a mile or two distant. We covered four or five miles at the gallop, stopping wherever we met anyone on the road to make inquiries; and it was soon abundantly clear that we were overtaking them fast. They seemed to be keeping to the high road, for what purpose or whither bound it was impossible to guess; nor did it matter much so long as we were rapidly closing up to them.
Then the scent failed suddenly. We had rattled along for a couple of miles or so, and I was expecting to overtake them at any moment, when a carter whom we questioned declared that no one answering to the description had passed him. The news was serious indeed; it was now late, there were few people abroad; the sparsely-scattered houses and cottages were closed, and the inmates abed; we had passed more than one branch road; and thus the chances of our tracking them ran down to zero.
We turned our horses’ heads, and at the first of the branch roads drew rein to confer. Rubio had no stomach for the work of further search, and was for doing no more until we could get sufficient help to continue the hunt vigorously the next morning in the daylight. This, no doubt, was a counsel of reason; but I was in anything but a reasonable mood, and would not listen to him—much to his disgust.
“We know just about where they were last seen on the high road,” I said. “They can’t ride about all night in these by-lanes; if they were making for any definite town they would have had to stick to the main road; and we must take these by-roads in turn, and ride a few miles along each of them. You follow the first, and I’ll take the next. We shall find them in that way.”
“It is useless, senor. We shall only wear ourselves and our horses out to no purpose,” he protested; but I insisted, and sending him down the first lane, I rode on to the next, and dashed along it through the rain that was now falling in gusty, blusterous squalls. But I found nothing to help my search; not a soul did I see, not a cottage or building of any kind; and with something like a groan of disappointment, I pulled up at length, and began to retrace my steps.
Then what might have been expected happened—I lost my way. Puzzled by the darkness I took a wrong turning which, instead of leading me back to the high road, brought me out by a rough zig-zag way on to a wild, bleak hillside, where it ended; and I was stranded, far away from any sign of a habitation, in the pitch darkness, with the wind howling round me and the rain falling in torrents.
For an hour or more I groped about, having at times to dismount and lead my horse, until I realised that I was hopelessly lost, and that I had not only no chance of discovering Sarita that night, but should be lucky if I had not to spend the night in the open.
I was halting for the twentieth time under the shelter of trees to escape some of the pelting rain, when my luck turned, and I caught sight of a glimmer of light faintly quivering through the darkness above me. Where light was, some human being must be also, and if money or force could prevail, that human being should guide me back to the high road and safety; and I led my horse in a bee-line toward the light, stumbling, floundering, and slipping over the sloppy, uneven ground, now blundering into a ditch or sinking ankle deep into a vegetable patch, or almost breaking my shins against stone heaps, until I found that the light came from the window of a cottage.
Then something happened to fill me with the inspiring hope that my good luck was far better than I could have dared to hope. I was close to the cottage when I ran up against a couple of horses tethered to some railings; and on running my hands over them I found both were saddled, and that one carried a side saddle. My excitement at this was intense; for I believed that luck, chance, fate, Providence, call it what you will, had done what no judgment or skill could have had accomplished, and had led me right to Livenza’s hiding-place.
In a moment, all my instincts of caution were awake again. I led my horse away from the others, fastened him securely, and crept up to the window where the light glimmered. Although the rain and wind were raging with such violence that no sound I made was at all likely to penetrate within, I picked my way with the utmost care, and stealing up to the window, peered in. I could not see much, as there was a dirty ragged, white curtain, which prevented my getting more than a glimpse at one side; but I saw enough to confirm my belief.
Livenza was there. I could see him plainly, as he stood by the door of the room, leaning against it, his arms folded, his head bent down, and his features moody, frowning, and dogged. As I watched him he looked up toward the corner of the room by the window, and in his blood-shot, haggard eyes was a wild, dangerous light that told all too plainly of the fire of insanity. His lips moved, but I could not hear the words; and at the instant a great gust of wind rushed against the small casement window, and set it clattering and shaking as though to burst it in.
Sarita I could not see, but when he spoke she made a movement forward, which brought her face into the line of light, and her profile was silhouetted for a second on the dirty, wind-rustled curtain.
Turning then, I felt my way to the door of the cottage, only to find it fast bolted, apparently on the inside. I raised my riding whip to knock for admission when a thought stayed me. If I was right, and Livenza’s mind had completely given way, what would be the possible effect of any interruption? I scented danger plainly. It might drive him to the instant execution of any plan which might have formed in his mad brain, and the very effort at rescue might be only the signal for him to act. This might mean nothing less than Sarita’s death.
I went back to the window, therefore, in deep perplexity, searching my wits for some means of ascertaining how matters stood. He was in the same position as before, and just then another tempestuous gust of wind dashed against the window, the casement of which strained and creaked on its hinges. And this gave me an idea.
Taking off my overcoat I rolled it round my arm and waited for such another gust, when I dashed my arm against the casement, bursting it partially open, and then drew back hastily into the dark.
A cry from Sarita was followed by a shout from Livenza, who came across hurriedly to the window.
“It’s only the wind,” I heard him say in a strident tone as he tore aside the curtain. “Not the police. You needn’t be afraid of interruption.” He tried unsuccessfully to shut the small casement, the flimsy fastenings of which I had evidently smashed. He soon abandoned his efforts, with an oath at the storm, and re-crossed the room. But I could now hear what passed, and, as he did not think to rearrange the curtain, I could see everything clearly.
For a time not a word was spoken, and then Livenza broke the silence.
“We may as well end this pretence, Sarita. I have lied to you. Your Englishman is not coming here, he is lying snug, safely caged in a gaol in Madrid, and I have brought you here for my own purposes. To tell you again what you once used to let me tell you freely, and what you know well enough—that I love you; love you, do you hear, as no cold-blooded English dog knows how to love. You are mine now, and shall never belong to another.”
I saw Sarita start, and wince at the words. She looked across at him, and appeared to realise in a moment the extremity of the case, her imminent peril, and his wild insanity. She hesitated as if calculating her chance of either outwitting or struggling against him; and I would have given anything to have been able to let her know I was at hand. The dead calmness of her tone, as she replied, told me how clearly she understood her danger.
“I have never let you tell me that, Colonel Livenza,” she said, very quietly.
“But you knew it. You could read it in my eyes, in my acts, in how I served you, in my work for the Carlists, in everything,” he answered, vehemently. “You are more to me than life—you know that. Life, do I say”—and he laughed—“Why, I have wrecked my very soul for your love, Sarita; and have within the last few hours done murder that you might be free to be mine.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, in the same clear, cool, even voice. She was leading him to talk in order to gain time to think and plan.
“What should I mean but that I have killed the only man who stood between us. No, not your Englishman,” he cried bitterly, in answer to her changing look. “He never stood between us. A far stronger than he—Quesada. You told me of his treachery. He gave you to me, and all the time was scheming and lying that he might cheat me of you and have you for himself. But he will lie and cheat no more;” and he laughed again, wildly and recklessly. “Unless he does it in hell. He is dead, do you understand, dead, shot through the brain at the very moment when he was setting another cursed trap for me.”
I saw Sarita start in fear, then instantly recover herself.
“You did wrong to kill him,” she said, quietly.
“Wrong? Is revenge wrong? Is justice wrong? Has he killed no one? Did he not plan my murder? Wouldn’t he have ruined you? Were you safe in his greedy clutch? Why chatter of wrong? It was right; a sound, good, true, just act, and had he a hundred lives I would take them all, the hundredth more cheerfully than the first—for your sake, Sarita. God, how I love you!” he cried with mad ecstasy. “When you told me that night at Calvarro’s farm how he had cheated me, you signed his death warrant, Sarita. I went away meaning to kill him and then myself, but I saw how to do better. When I taxed him with his treachery he denied everything, and made me more smooth promises. He was afraid to die and told me where you were, that I could go to you and rescue you, and have you for my own, all my own, Sarita. And then I saw what I could do. That I could still kill him, and then escape myself to you and win you; and I went out from his room and crept out to the back of his house and caught him—doing, what think you? In the very act of sending a message to his spies to arrest me at the place to which he was sending me to find you. I knew then he had told me the truth, where you were; and I shot him and saw him fall dead without a word, without a groan even, and I hurried away to you. To you, my love, my last hope in life, my love, my love. God, how I burn for you!” he exclaimed with fresh ecstasy.
Sarita shuddered and drew in her breath, at these evident proofs of his madness.
“You told me Lord Glisfoyle was waiting for me,” she said, scarce knowing in her growing alarm what to say.
“Don’t speak that name to me,” he cried fiercely, his eyes gleaming and his face flushing. “Any name but that. I lied to you, I know it. I am not ashamed. A man must lie when love demands it. I used him to win you away from Escorias; and you came—came, never to leave me again, Sarita. I love you too well. If you will not love me, you shall live to love no other. I swear it. But you don’t want to die, and will learn to love me. And if you won’t, here is the love draught for us both;” and the brute took his revolver from his pocket, and held it, looking from it to Sarita, with eyes wild with craving, love, madness, and the menace of death.
“You mean you will murder me as you have murdered Sebastian Quesada?” Her voice was perfectly calm as she spoke. No higher proof of her consummate courage could she have shown than this exclusion of fear from her voice. And she smiled and added gently, “I don’t think you would do that.” But even as she spoke she glanced hurriedly at the broken window in the hope of escape.
I stole away then without waiting for more. I was confident she could hold him in check long enough for me to effect her rescue if only I could get into the house without arousing his suspicions.
I tried the door again, but it was too firmly fastened for me to force it, and feeling my way by the walls I went round to the back, thinking to find there a door or window by which I could enter. But the back door was as firm as that in the front, and I had seen too much not to know that the crash of my entrance, if I burst it in, would be the signal for him to shoot.
There was a small window on the floor level, but this was not made to open, and I was afraid to smash the glass. In the storey above there was also a window, and to my intense satisfaction, I saw the casement was open and creaking in the wind. In a moment I had my plan. I ran to my horse and led him to the back of the house, making a circuit sufficiently wide to prevent his steps being heard, and fastening him under the window I quieted him while I stood up in the saddle. I was still some way below the window, but calculating the distance as best I could in the dark, I sprang up and managed to catch hold of the sill. The rest was easy. I drew myself up, and in a minute was inside the room.
Then I slipped off my boots, and striking a light found my way out of the room and down the narrow rickety stairs, pausing at almost every step, in fear lest the creak of the boards should give notice of my presence. But no one heard me, and as the floor at the bottom was stone paved, I could move with greater freedom. All was still well with Sarita, and when I reached the door of the room where the two were, I heard her voice, still calm and firm with courage, as she reasoned with Livenza.
“Love is sweet and life is sweet,” I heard him say in answer to something from her; “but death is sweeter than all if love be denied. If we cannot live and love we can die together, Sarita,” he said, in the dreary tone of a crazed dreamer.
I ran my fingers softly and noiselessly round the door in search of the fastening, and when he began to speak again, I lifted the latch noiselessly by imperceptible degrees, and found to my inexpressible relief that it was unlocked. The sands of my patience had now run out, and I drew my revolver and held it in readiness for instant use. The seconds that followed formed a pause of acute suspense. I could hear Livenza brushing against the door on the inside as he moved when speaking, and taking advantage of a moment when he was in the midst of one of his mad rhapsodical harangues, I nerved myself for a tremendous effort, thrust the door open with all my might and main, and dashed into the room.
Thank heaven, the attempt was entirely successful. The door in opening struck Livenza with such sudden violence, that it sent him staggering forward against the table in the centre, overthrowing the candle and extinguishing it. Before he could recover himself, I had found him in the dark, and grappling him dragged him to the floor, where he writhed and strained in a fierce and desperate struggle for the mastery.
Sarita cried out in fear at the darkness and the sudden confusion.
“It is I, Sarita,” I called, as I heard her close over us, and feared he would try to escape. “For God’s sake, get some kind of light.” I could speak no more, having to concentrate every effort to overcome Livenza, who was fighting and wrestling with the wild ferocity of madness. So fiercely did he struggle, and with strength which his madness increased so greatly, that at one time I half feared he would master me; but at length my grip fastened on his throat, and I pressed on it with all the strength at my command, disregarding the blows he rained upon me with frantic violence, and I hung on with a grip which he tried vainly to shake off, writhing, and twisting incessantly. His strength gave out at last; the blows grew fainter and the struggles weaker until he lay passive, choking, and seemingly unconscious in my grasp.
“Can’t you get a light, Sarita?” I asked, anxiously, for the whole struggle had taken place in pitchy darkness.
“Are you hurt?” was her reply, her voice trembling.
“Not in the least. Don’t be a bit afraid, we’ll soon be out of this mess.” Finding that Livenza lay still, I plunged my hand into my pocket and found my match-box. “Here are matches;” and when our fingers touched in the dark hers were cold and shaking violently. I pressed them gently and whispered: “It’s all right now, sweetheart;” and a moment or two later, the candle was found and re-lighted, revealing by its dim flame a scene of confusion and disorder in the humble little room which bore eloquent testimony to the scene which had just been enacted.
“You must hunt about and find something to tie this mad devil up with; I daren’t leave him,” I said next; and taking the candle she went out of the room, her face dead white, and her hands shaking so that the candle flickered unsteadily.
Meanwhile Livenza lay so still in the darkness that I began to fear he was dead. I could feel no pulse in his listless wrist, which dropped when I released it like the arm of a corpse. I unfastened his coat and laid my hand on his heart, and then I could just detect a faint fluttering; but it was enough to prove he still lived.
After a few minutes Sarita came back carrying a small length of cord which she had found; and with this I fastened his legs. Taking the candle I looked with a good deal of anxiety into his eyes; and sending Sarita for water I dashed it on his face, and made such crude efforts as I knew of to bring him back to consciousness. For a long time the effort seemed vain, and the apparent difficulty of restoring him, led me to an act of carelessness that came within an ace of proving fatal to everything.
Sarita had been carrying Livenza’s revolver which had fallen close to her feet when I had burst in, and now she picked up mine and laid them both on the table; and I, thinking that Livenza would be better if I raised him, dragged him up and set him on a chair close to them. It was the act of a fool. He had evidently been duping me for some time, and now he waited until my hands were off him, when he seized his chance with the cunning of a madman, and snatched up one of the revolvers. A cry from Sarita was my first hint of the peril, and I turned to find the barrel levelled point blank at me.
Her cry came just as he was pulling the trigger and he started and missed me. Quick as thought he turned on her as she moved to the other side of the room; but his hand was too shaky for him to aim correctly, and by the mercy of Providence he missed her. Then before I could interfere to stop him, for the three shots followed in rapid succession, he put the pistol to his own temple and fired. This time the aim was true enough, and with a groan, he fell back off the chair dead.
The revolver dropped close to him, and I kicked it away and bent over him, and laid my hand on his heart.
“He is dead, Sarita,” I said, and rose to take her out of the room, but the strain and the shock had been too much for her strength. She had fainted and lay white, wan, and helpless in the chair on which she had crouched when he made his last desperate attempt to shoot her.