Prisoners: Fast Bound In Misery And Iron. Mary Cholmondeley
She clutched the arm of the sofa and trembled. She had known so many small emotions. What was this? And like a second wave on the top of the first a sea of recklessness broke over and engulfed her. What next? She did not know. She did not care. Michael, his face and hand. These were the only realities. In another moment she should see him, feel him, hold him, never, never let him go again.
In the intense stillness a whisper came up through the orange blossom below her balcony:
"Fay."
She was on the balcony in a moment. The scent of the orange blossom had become alive and confused everything.
"Come up," she said almost inaudibly.
"I cannot."
"You must. I must speak to you."
"Come down here then. I am not coming up."
She ran down, and felt rather than saw Michael's presence at the foot of the little stair.
He was breathing hard. He did not move towards her.
"You sent for me, so I came," he said. "Tell me quickly what I can do for you, how I can serve you. I cannot remain here more than a moment. I endanger your safety as it is."
It was all so different from what she had expected, from what she had pictured to herself. He was so determined and stern; and it had never struck her as possible that he would not come up to her room, that the interview would be so short.
"I can't speak here," she said, angry tears smarting in her eyes.
"You can and must. Tell me quickly, dearest, why you sent for me. You said it was all-important. I am here, I will do your bidding, if you will only say what it is."
"Take me with you," she gasped inaudibly.
She had not meant to say that. She was merely the mouthpiece of something vast, of some blind destructive force that was rending her. She swayed against the railings, clinging to them with both hands.
Even as she spoke her voiceless whisper was drowned in a sound but very little louder. There was a distant stir, a movement as of waking bees in the house.
He had not heard her. He was listening intently.
"Go back instantly and shut the window," he said, and in a moment she felt he was gone.
She crept feebly up the stairs to her room and sank down again on the couch, broken, half dead.
"I shall see him no more. I shall see him no more," she said to herself, twisting her hands. What a travesty, what a mockery that one hurried moment had been! What a parting that was no parting! He had no heart. He did not really love her.
Through her stupor she felt rather than heard a movement in the house. She stole out of her room to the head of the grand staircase. Nearly all the lights had been put out. Close to a lamp in the saloon below, the duke and Lord John were standing, looking at a map. "The Grotta Ferrata road is the best," the duke was saying. And as he spoke a servant came in quickly, and whispered to the duke, who left the saloon with him.
Fay fled back to her own room. Something was happening. But what? Could it have any connection with herself and Michael? No, that seemed impossible. And Michael must by now have left the gardens, by the unlocked door by which he had come in.
Fay drew the reading lamp nearer to her, and opened the book of devotions which Magdalen, her far off sister in England, had sent her. Her eyes wandered over the page, her mind taking no heed.
"For it is the most pain that the soul may have, to turn from God any time by sin."
There certainly was a sort of subdued stir in the house. A nameless fear was invading Fay's heart. The book shook in her hand. What could be happening? And if it was, as it must be, something quite apart from her and Michael, what did it matter, why be afraid?
"For sin is vile, and so greatly to be hated that it may be likened to no pain which is not sin. And to me was showed no harder hell than sin."
A low tap came at the window. Fay started violently, and the book dropped on the floor.
The tap was repeated. She went to the window, and saw Michael's face through the glass.
She opened the glass door, and he came in. His clothes were smeared and torn, and there was blood upon his hand.
"Something has happened," he said. "I don't know what it is, but the garden is surrounded, and there is someone watching at the door I came in at. I have tried all the other ways. I have tried to climb the wall, but there was glass at the top. I can't get out. And they are searching the gardens with lanterns."
Even as he spoke they saw lights moving among the ilexes.
"They can't know," she said faintly.
"It does not seem possible. They are probably looking for someone else, but I can't be found here at this hour without raising suspicion. Is there any way out through the house from here?"
"Only down the grand staircase."
"I must risk it. Show me the way."
They went together down the almost dark corridor. Fay's heart sickened at the thought that a belated servant might see them. But all was quiet. At the head of the staircase they both peered over the balustrade. At its foot in a narrow circle of light stood the duke and Lord John, and a man with a tri-coloured sash. Even as they looked, the three turned and began slowly to mount the staircase.
Fay and Michael were back in her boudoir in a moment.
"There is a way out here," he said, indicating the door into her bedroom.
"It leads into my bedroom, and then through to Andrea's rooms. There is no passage, and he has a dog in his room. It would bark."
"I must go back to the garden again," he said, and instantly moved to the window. Both saw two carabinieri standing with a lantern at the foot of the balcony steps.
"If you go down now," said Fay hoarsely, "my reputation goes with you."
He looked at her.
It was as if his whole life were focussed on one burning point; how to save her from suspicion. If he could have shrivelled into ashes at her feet he would have done it. She saw her frightful predicament, and almost hated him.
The animal panic of being trapped caught them both simultaneously. He overcame it instantly, while she shook helplessly as in a palsy.
He went swiftly back to the door leading to the staircase, and glanced through it.
"They are coming along the corridor," he said. "They will certainly come in here."
"Stand behind the screen," she gasped. "I will say no one has been here, and they will pass through into the other room. As soon as they have left the room go quickly out by the staircase."
He looked round him once, and then walked behind a tall screen of Italian leather which stood at the head of a divan.
Fay took up her book from the floor, but her numb fingers refused to hold it. She put it on the edge of the table near her, under the lamp, hid her shaking hands in the folds of her long white chiffon gown, and fixed her eyes upon the page.
The words of the dead saint swam before her eyes:
"Yea, He loveth us now as well while we are here, as He shall do while we are there afore His blessed face. But for failing of love on our part, therefore is all our travail."
There were subdued footsteps outside, a tap, the duke's voice.
"May I come in?"
"Come in," she said, but she heard no words.
She made a superhuman effort.
"Come in," she said again, and this time to her relief she heard the words distinctly.
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