Fire Below (16 page)

‘Everything else,’ said I. ‘All she asks is to be trusted.’

Marya nodded thoughtfully.

‘“For beauty lives with kindness”,’ she said.

With that, she went into the mill, and I made my way to the willows and stripped in their shade.

The water was warm, and since I had in my pocket a small piece of soap, I made a better toilet than I had known for a week. Indeed, to leave the sweet water and put on my dirty clothes was so distasteful a step that I shirked it again and again, and twenty minutes went by before I got back to the mill.

From his perch on the tiles of the outhouse Rowley regarded my wet and rumpled hair with an envious eye.

‘Your turn next,’ I said smiling. ‘But you mustn’t bathe directly after a meal.’

‘I haven’t had a meal, sir,’ was the dismal reply.

‘But the Countess was going to bring you something to eat.’

‘She hasn’t yet, sir.’

A sudden fear seized my heart.

‘She hasn’t gone out, has she?’

‘Oh, no, sir. She’s still inside.’

I entered the mill, frowning.

The room where we had argued was empty, and I crossed to the door in its wall.

I opened this very gently, to see George fast asleep on an armful of fern. To one side lay some small loaves of bread and two flasks of wine. Of Marya Dresden there was no sign at all.

When I looked round, I noticed a second door. This was made in two halves, the upper of which was ajar and was laying a ribbon of sunlight upon the floor.

In a flash I had pulled it wide open.

It gave to a little footbridge which spanned the foaming race and led to a patch of greensward. To this the woods came down, so that anyone going that way would be out of sight of the mill in ten seconds of time.

I do not doubt that far shrewder men than I have been fooled by a girl, but I think that only a fool would have been gammoned as I was, and when I remembered Marya’s sudden submission and her desire to be shown where Rowley was keeping his watch, I was ready to stamp for vexation with my simplicity.

Marya was gone back to Grieg – of that I had no shadow of doubt. And she had twenty minutes’ start…

Ruefully I stared at the woods.

“I’ve got to stop it. I’m the only person who can, and it’s plainly my job”.

Brave beyond all compare, loyal to her high estate, scrupulous to a hair, Marya Grieg was gone to cast her pearls before swine. I wondered dully whether her blackguard husband would rend her or no.

Then another sentence of hers stole in to my mind.

“If I – I kept him at home tonight”…

For a moment my heart stood still.

Then I vaulted over the half-door and on to the bridge.

As I landed, the timbers gave way as though they had been but matchsticks fastened together with glue; for a fraction of a second the mill-race roared in my ears, and then I was fast under water with a shocking pain in my head.

Had the wheel been running, I must, of course, have been killed: but though I never looked, I fancy its spindle had bent until the fans or paddles were resting on the bed of the race.

As I sank, I was seized by the current, and before I could think, the savage rush of the water had hurled me against a fan which was wholly submerged and was holding me there, as a puppet that has floated down stream may be held against the bars of some sluice.

When I sought instinctively to rise, the fan next above prevented me, and such was the weight of the water that I could not get clear.

The uproar, the darkness, the merciless thrash of the mill-race upon my body and limbs, the strain of holding my breath and the horrid sense of being held down to be drowned – these things, I think, were my salvation, for such a load of torture inspired me with the passion of a madman to save my life.

After my head had struck the fan, the water had laid me sideways against the wheel, but the channel was not very wide, and with my hand I was able to touch the wall. At once I forced my left arm as far as I could through the flood, keeping my hand to the wall in the hope of encountering something which I could clutch. So, by God’s mercy, my fingers came to a niche which I knew was above the water, for I felt the air on my hand. This afforded me handhold, and by dint of bending my arm, I hauled myself just far enough to clear the fan above me and draw in one blessed breath, before again giving way to the weight of the head of water which held me down.

After resting a moment, I hauled myself clear again, as much to take breath as to see what next I could do, but such was the welter that I could see nothing at all and, after a frantic moment, was forced to yield to the pressure and sink back beneath the fan which, like some merciless ceiling, was holding me down.

I was now near as desperate as ever, for to fight such a fight for more than another few moments was not in any man’s power, and unless I could make some progress, I was as good as dead.

I decided to take one more breath and then make a great endeavour to find the niche with my right hand, instead of my left. In that way, when I was clear, I should have my face to the fan, instead of my back, and if I could only contrive to fling my left arm above it, the water would hold me against it like a rag which a stiff wind holds to a clothes-line without any peg.

I did not at all like letting go my niche, for heaven only knew if in all the welter I ever should find it again; but if there were other ways, I could not see them, and I think I was lucky to be granted even this use of my wits.

How I managed to turn under water I cannot tell, nor yet how I found the niche with my other hand, but I know that my lungs were bursting when I hauled my head into the air and that when at last I had my arm over the fan that had held me down, I hung like a wretch on a cart’s tail, more dead than alive.

And that was as much as I could do.

As though enraged at my presumption, the waters seemed to conspire to war me down, roaring like fiends, leaping like hangmen upon my neck and shoulders, bruising my chest against the edge of the fan and holding my legs from beneath me with a drag before which I was as helpless as a straw in a gale of wind.

By now I was shouting for help with all my might. This with scarce any hope, for Rowley was out of earshot and George was asleep and the roar of the water went far to drown my voice. Indeed, it seemed that I had but postponed my end, for while I could do nothing more to help myself, it was very plain that I could not hold out for long before such punishment.

Still, I shouted desperately, now thinking of Marya Dresden, and now of Grieg, and now of Littai and Leonie and a little way she had of holding her precious hands.

If Lelia had not returned before her time, I must have been dead.

As it was, my strength was fast failing, when I heard a shriek from behind me and then, a moment later, a cry from George.

‘Rowley,’ I yelled. ‘Get Rowley and open the hatch.’

As I spoke, I nodded my head at the little hatch or window that gave to the wheel. This was some two feet square and was used, I think, by the miller to clean the fans.

I afterwards learned that George could not hear what I said, but that Lelia read my gesture and dragged him off to the hatch.

Whilst she was fetching Rowley, he flung the shutter open and clambered on to the wheel, but though I could see him above me, he could not reach so far. Then Rowley came and caught hold of George’s legs, and a moment later his hands went under my arms.

By now I was so much exhausted that I could give him no help, until I had taken some rest, and since, though he could support me, he had not the strength to drag me clear of the fan, we stayed as we were for two minutes with our faces four inches apart, like a couple of acrobats.

‘The Brothers Bung,’ said George, grinning. ‘In their daring confidence trick. Real water. And you needn’t tell me what happened, because I can see for myself what’s left of the bridge. Damned dangerous things, they are. And now if you’ve had a breather, shall we try and go home?’

He must have suffered torture, but he never complained, and, whilst he held me, I dragged myself up his body as though it were the trunk of some tree.

Then Rowley’s hand grasped my wrist, and George began to go back, and two minutes later they pulled me out of danger and through the hatch.

As I reached the floor, Lelia’s arm went about me and she put a phial to my lips…

‘And now where’s Marya?’ said George.

As well as I could, I told him my wretched news, while Lelia fussed about me, now taking off my coat and now my shirt and rubbing my chest and shoulders with handfuls of fern.

Poor George clapped his hands to his face.

‘Gone back?’ he said shakily. ‘Gone back to the butcher’s yard?’

‘You must take Rowley,’ I said, ‘and follow at once. For God’s sake be careful. Myself, I think it likely that Grieg may have gone. What’s at least equally likely is that Marya will lose her bearings and then her way. So don’t rush in. And come back here when you can. We can’t get out tonight – Rowley will tell you why. And he’ll tell you why I must go to the bridle-path. The line to take with Marya is that it’s my life or Grieg’s. And if you can, turn Lelia on to argue the point with her. She’s very downright; but when you’re dealing with Grieg, you can’t wear gloves.’

‘By God, you’re right,’ said George.

Then they were gone, poor Rowley with a flask in his hand and munching bread as he went, and I was insisting to Lelia that if I was to strip any more she must first go out of the mill.

For sheer, vexatious misfortune, I think the collapse of the foot-bridge is hard to beat. It added a quarter of an hour to Marya’s start, and it put me out of action for three good hours, two of which I passed asleep in the sunshine while Lelia watched.

When she had withdrawn, I stripped and rubbed myself down with fern. Then I wrung out my trousers and put them on. She had brought me a beautiful shirt like that which she was wearing, and as it was full for her, it did for me very well. I fear that I burst the sleeves which were but four inches long, but the pleasure of putting on clean linen far more than outweighed a tightness under the arms. She had also brought me silk stockings, but these I would not use: for they would have been too small and my socks had been well enough washed and would soon be dry.

Of her gentle care of me I do not know how to speak. It made a world of difference, for I had been badly shaken by my fight with the race and since, when I fell, I was needing both food and rest, the misadventure had brought me to the end of my tether and left me with scarce strength enough to lift up my head. Indeed, if I had had to shift for myself I do not know how I should have fared, for with none to wake me I should not have dared to sleep, yet not only was slumber the physic my state required, but my state would, I think, have insisted upon its rights.

My ears were singing when I limped out of the mill and I must have gone down on my knees if Lelia had not sprung forward to hold me up. She led me into the sunshine and made me sit down upon the turf: then she fed me with bread and wine, and when I had eaten, she helped me to dry my pistol and never plagued me to leave it as so many women would have done. Then she took my faithful wristwatch which even the rage of the water had failed to disturb, and, passing her word to wake me at five o’clock, sat down on the green beside me, like any slave, with a frond of fern in her hand to rout the flies.

As I settled myself, I looked up.

‘You are very good to me, Lelia.’

‘But, of course,’ says she. ‘I – I like you. Would her Highness do this for you?’

‘Yes,’ said I steadily. ‘But she could do no more.’

Lelia lifted her head.

‘I have always heard say,’ she said, ‘that she is beyond compare.’

‘So she is,’ said I quietly. ‘But I did not know there were two women who could be so sweet.’

I am glad to remember she bent a glowing face…

I had hoped against hope that George would come back with Marya whilst I slept, for I was most uneasy about his mission, and the sinister neighbourhood to which he and Rowley had gone was for me the abode of misfortune as well as the ‘haunt of the arrow that flieth by day’. But when I awoke, there was no one but Lelia there, and she was lamenting that she had kept her word.

‘You were sleeping so fast,’ she said, ‘so fast and well. It went to my heart to wake you, and you so tired. Please sleep again. I will wake you in half an hour.’

I dared not let her beguile me, though I think I could have slept for a week, and when I had got to my feet, I found to my great relief that my strength had come back. I was something stiff and felt as though I had been beaten from head to heel, but otherwise no worse for my adventure, and the pain in my head was gone.

The hunger which had left me had now returned, so when I had stretched my legs, I sat down beside my nurse and began to eat.

The spot was peaceful, and looked more fair than ever now that the shadows were long. It had all the grace which belongs to a fairy tale, so green was the turf, and the water so clear and bright, while the great bank of woodland, rising beyond the mill, might have been set as a bulwark against the workaday world. Indeed, when I looked at Lelia, sitting with her small feet crossed and her hands in her lap, for one instant the fancy struck me that I was dead, that I had, after all, been drowned in the foaming race, and had passed to some simple existence in which strife and battle and murder would have no part.

This absurd imagination was almost at once displaced by the astounding reflection that but twenty-four hours ago I was actually with the Circus, moving within the horse-lines, tending the sprightly Ada and reporting to Bach. These things seemed already so distant that I could hardly believe they belonged to yesterday’s date, and had some wise man appeared to declare that the sun had been lately proceeding at a fifth of his usual pace, I should have accepted his statement without a thought.

‘I suppose you are set,’ said Lelia, ‘on taking this bridle-path.’

‘I must,’ said I, and threw a piece of bread for the wolf-hound, who had been dozing, but had risen at the sound of my munching and had come and sat down at my feet with a meaning look. ‘I’m going to start at six.’

‘You will fall by the way,’ says she. ‘And, so far from saving her Highness, you will not be able to save yourself.’

‘There will be no to-do, so long as I manage to get there before the police. I have only to cross the water and wait on the farther side: and then, if Leonie comes, I can send her back.’

It sounded simple, but I did not deceive myself. If Grieg in truth believed that Leonie was to arrive, he would himself cross the water and lie in wait. And then, if she came, there would be the deuce of a fight. But whether she came or no, in view of what I had learned I did not see how I could let the man go his way for if his spy could be active at Littai itself, Grieg would not lose his sting because he stood on Austrian soil.

Lelia said nothing, but when I had finished my meal, she took my right hand and set it upon her knee. Then she stuffed a little cushion between my wrist and the ring and when she had it to her liking, she took a file from beside her and fell to work.

I was astonished to see her use such method, for that is less the way of a woman than of a man, and I know no man that would ever have thought of a cushion, unless it were Bell.

‘Who taught you to free prisoners?’ I said.

‘Do not laugh at me,’ she answered. ‘I know–’

‘Laugh? I can think of no man that would do it so well.’

‘But I am not a man,’ said Lelia softly.

After a little I asked what story she had told the smith.

‘I used Grieg’s name,’ she said. ‘I said that he had told me to ask the smith for a file.’

It occurred to me that Lelia had little to learn.

Now filing through a steel band is very slow work, and before she had worked for ten minutes Lelia began to fret.

‘I am doing so badly,’ she wailed. ‘I had thought to free you in no time, and look at that stupid scratch.’

‘Believe me or not,’ said I, ‘no smith could go any faster. The steel is too hard.’

‘Oh, my dear,’ says she, ‘I shall never have done by six.’

‘You’ll have freed this hand,’ said I. ‘And the other can wait.’

‘Till when?’ says she. ‘Till tomorrow? Till this day week?’

‘You know,’ I said, ‘that I hope to return at dawn.’

‘I know,’ said she, ‘that you have no seven-league boots.’

I looked at her sharply, but, though I think she knew it, she never looked up from her work.

Her thrust was cogent.

From where we sat to the fall was thirteen miles – at the least. If I did nothing else, to walk there and back would take me at least nine hours. Such a march in my present state was beyond my power. I simply could not do it. What was far worse, by leaving at six I never should make the water before it was dark: and unless I was there before Grieg… My own words came into my mind – ‘The odds are on him who comes first to a place like that’.