Books: The Midnight Queen
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May Agnes Fleming >> The Midnight Queen
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"There is the house," cried Ormiston, and both paused to take
breath; "and I am about at the last gasp. I wonder if your
pretty mistress would feel grateful if she knew what I have come
through to-night for her sweet sake?"
"There are no lights," mad Sir Norman, glancing anxiously up at
the darkened front of the house; "even the link before the door
is unlit. Surely she cannot be there."
"That remains to be seen, though I'm very doubtful about it
myself. Ah I who have we here?"
The door of the house in question opened, as he spoke, and a
figure - a man's figure, wearing a slouched hat and long, dark
cloak, came slowly out. He stopped before the house and looked
at it long and earnestly; and, by the twinkling light of the
lamps, the friends saw enough of him to know he was young and
distinguished looking.
"I should not wonder in the least it that were the bridegroom,"
whispered Ormiston, maliciously.
Sir Norman turned pale with jealousy, and laid his hand on his
sword, with a quick and natural impulse to make the bride a widow
forthwith. But he checked the desire for an instant as the
brigandish-looking gentleman, after a prolonged stare at the
premises, stepped up to the watchman, who had given them their
information an hour or two before, and who was still at his post.
The friends could not be seen, but they could hear, and they did
so very earnestly indeed.
"Can you tell me, my friend," began the cloaked unknown, "what
has become of the people residing in yonder house?"
The watchman, held his lamp up to the face of the interlocutor -
a handsome face by the way, what could be seen of it - and
indulged himself in a prolonged survey.
"Well!" said the gentleman, impatiently, "have you no tongue,
fellow? Where are they, I say?"
"Blessed if I know," said the watchman. "I, wasn't set here to
keep guard over them was I? It looks like it, though," said the
man in parenthesis; "for this makes twice to-night I've been
asked questions about it."
"Ah!" said the gentleman, with a slight start. "Who asked you
before, pray?"
"Two young gentlemen; lords, I expect, by their dress. Somebody
ran screaming out of the house, and they wanted to know what was
wrong."
"Well?" said the stranger, breathlessly, "and then?"
"And then, as I couldn't tell them they went in to see for
themselves, and shortly after came out with a body wrapped in a
sheet, which they put in a pest-cart going by, and had it buried,
I suppose, with the rest in the plague-pit."
The stranger fairly staggered back, and caught at a pillar near
for support. For nearly ten minutes, he stood perfectly
motionless, and then, without a word, started up and walked
rapidly away. The friends looked after him curiously till he was
out of eight.
"So she is not there," said Ormiston; "and our mysterious friend
in the cloak is as much at a loss as we are ourselves. Where
shall we go next - to La Masque or the peat-house?"
"To La Masque - I hate the idea of the pest-house!"
"She may be there, nevertheless; and under present circumstances,
it is the beat place for her."
"Don't talk of it!" said Sir Norman, impatiently. "I do not and
will not believe she is there! If the sorceress shows her to me
in the caldron again, I verily believe I shall jump in head
foremost."
"And I verily believe we will not find La Masque at home. She
wanders through the streets at all hours, but particularly
affects the night."
"We shall try, however. Come along!"
The house of the sorceress was but a short distance from that of
Sir Norman's plague-stricken lady-love's; and shod with a sort of
seven-league boots, they soon reached it. Like the other, it was
all dark and deserted.
"This is the home," said Ormiston, looking at it doubtfully, "but
where is La Masque?"
"Here!" said a silvery voice at his elbow; and turning round,
they saw a tall, slender figure, cloaked, hooded, and masked.
"Surely, you two do not want me again to-night?"
Both gentlemen doffed their plumed hats, and simultaneously
bowed.
"Fortune favors us," said Sir Norman. "Yes, madam, it is even
so; once again to-night we would tax your skill."
"Well, what do you wish to know?"
"Madam, we are in the street."
"Sir, I'm aware of that. Pray proceed,"
"Will you not have the goodness to permit us to enter?" said Sir
Norman, inclined to feel offended. "How can you tell us what we
wish to know, here?"
"That is my secret," said the sweet voice. "Probably Sir Norman
Kingsley wishes to know something of the fair lady I showed him
some time ago?"
"Madam, you've guessed it. It is for that purpose I have sought
you now."
"Then you have seen her already?"
"I have."
"And love her?"
"With all my heart!"
"A rapid flame," said the musical voice, in a tone that had just
a thought of sarcasm; "for one of whose very existence you did
not dream two hours ago."
"Madame La Masque," said Norman, flushed sad haughty, "love is
not a question of time."
"Sir Norman Kingsley," said the lady, somewhat sadly, "I am aware
of that. Tell me what you wish to know, and if it be in my
power, you shall know it."
"A thousand thanks! Tell me, then, is she whom I seek living or
dead?"
"She is alive."
"She has the plague?" said Sir Norman.
"I know it."
"Will she recover?"
"She will."
"Where is she now?"
La Masque hesitated and seemed uncertain whether or not to reply,
Sir Norman passionately broke in:
"Tell me, madam, for I must know!"
"Then you shall; but, remember, if you get into danger, you must
not blame me."
"Blame you! No, I think I would hardly do that. Where am I to
seek for her?"
"Two miles from London beyond Newgate," said the mask. "There
stand the ruins of what was long ago a hunting-lodge, now a
crumbling skeleton, roofless and windowless, and said, by rumor,
to be haunted. Perhaps you have seen or heard of it?"
"I have seen it a hundred times," broke in Sir Norman. "Surely,
you do not mean to say she is there?"
"Go there, and you will see. Go there to-night, and lose no time
- that is, supposing you can procure a license."
"I have one already. I have a pass from the Lord Mayor to come
and go from the city when I please."
"Good! Then you'll go to-night."
"I will go. I might as well do that as anything else, I suppose;
but it is quite impossible," said Sir Norman, firmly, not to say
obstinately, "that she can be there."
"Very well you'll see. You had better go on horseback, if you
desire to be back in time to witness the illumination."
"I don't particularly desire to see the illumination, as I know
of; but I will ride, nevertheless. What am I to do when I get
there?"
"You will enter the ruins, and go on till you discover a spiral
staircase leading to what was once the vaults. The flags of
these vaults are loose from age, and if you should desire to
remove any of them, you will probably not find it an
impossibility."
"Why should I desire to remove them?" asked Sir Norman, who felt
dubious, and disappointed, and inclined to be dogmatical.
"Why, you may see a glimmering of light - hear strange noises;
and if you remove the stones, may possibly see strange sights.
As I told you before, it is rumored to be haunted, which is true
enough, though not in the way they suspect; and so the fools and
the common herd stay away."
"And if I am discovered peeping like a rascally valet, what will
be the consequences?"
"Very unpleasant ones to you; but you need not be discovered if
you take care. Ah! Look there!"
She pointed to the river, and both her companions looked. A
barge gayly painted and gilded, with a light in prow and stern,
came gliding up among less pretentious craft, and stopped at the
foot of a flight of stairs leading to the bridge. It contained
four persons - the oarsman, two cavaliers sitting in the stern,
and a lad in the rich livery of a court-page in the act of
springing out. Nothing very wonderful in all this; and Sir
Norman and Ormiston looked at her for an explanation.
"Do you know those two gentlemen?" she asked.
"Certainly," replied Sir Norman, promptly; "one is the Duke of
York, the other the Earl of Rochester."
"And that page, to which of them does he belong?"
"The page!" said Sir Norman, with a stare, as he leaned forward
to look; "pray, madam, what has the page to do with it?"
"Look and see!"
The two peers has ascended the stairs, and were already on the
bridge. The page loitered behind, talking, as it seemed, to the
waterman.
"He wears the livery of the Earl of Rochester," said Ormiston,
speaking for the first time, "but I cannot see his face."
"He will follow presently, and be sure you see it then! Possibly
you may not find it entirely new to you."
She drew back into the shadow as she spoke; and the two nobles,
as they advanced, talking earnestly, beheld Sir Norman and
Ormiston. Both raised their hats with a look of recognition, and
the salute was courteously returned by the others.
"Good-night, gentlemen," said Lord Rochester; "a hot evening, is
it not? Have you come here to witness the illumination?"
"Hardly," said Sir Norman; "we have come for a very different
purpose, my lord."
"The fires will have one good effect," said Ormiston laughing;
"if they clear the air and drive away this stifling atmosphere."
"Pray God they drive away the plague!" said the Duke of York, as
he and his companion passed from view.
The page sprang up the stairs after them, humming as he came, one
of his master's love ditties - songs, saith tradition, savoring
anything but the odor of sanctity. With the warning of La Masque
fresh in their mind, both looked at him earnestly. His gay
livery was that of Lord Rochester, and became his graceful figure
well, as he marched along with a jaunty swagger, one hand on his
aide, and the other toying with a beautiful little spaniel, that
frisked in open violation of the Lord Mayor's orders, commanding
all dogs, great and small, to be put to death as propagators of
the pestilence. In passing, the lad turned his face toward them
for a moment - a bright, saucy, handsome face it was - and the
next instant he went round an angle and disappeared. Ormiston
suppressed an oath. Sir Norman stifled a cry of amazement - for
both recognized that beautiful colorless face, those perfect
features, and great, black, lustrous eyes. It was the face of
the lady they had saved from the plague-pit!"
"Am I sane or mad?" inquired Sir Norman, looking helplessly about
him for information. Surely that is she we are in search of."
"It certainly is!" said Ormiston. "Where are the wonders of this
night to end?"
"Satan and La Masque only know; for they both seem to have united
to drive me mad. Where is she?"
"Where, indeed?" said Ormiston; "where is last year's snow?" And
Sir Norman, looking round at the spot where she had stood a
moment before, found that she, too, had disappeared.
CHAPTER IV.
THE STRANGER.
The two friends looked at each other in impressive silence for a
moment, and spake never a word. Not that they were astonished -
they were long past the power of that emotion: and if a cloud
had dropped from the sky at their feet, they would probably have
looked at it passively, and vaguely wonder if the rest would
follow. Sir Norman, especially, had sank into a state of mind
that words are faint and feeble to describe. Ormiston, not being
quite so far gone, was the first to open his lips.
"Upon my honor, Sir Norman, this is the most astonishing thing
ever I heard of. That certainly was the face of our half-dead
bride! What, in the name ad all the gods, can it mean, I wonder?"
"I have given up wondering," said Sir Norman, in the same
helpless tone. "And if the earth was to open and swallow London
up, I should not be the least surprised. One thing is certain:
the lady we are seeking and that page are one and the same."
"And yet La Masque told you she was two miles from the city, in
the haunted ruin; and La Masque most assuredly knows."
"I have no doubt she is there. I shall not be the least
astonished if I find her in every street between this and
Newgate."
"Really, it is a most singular affair! First you see her in the
magic caldron; then we find her dead; then, when within an ace of
being buried, she comes to life; then we leave her lifeless as a
marble statue, shut up in your room, and fifteen minutes after,
she vanishes as mysteriously as a fairy in a nursery legend.
And, lastly, she turns up in the shape of a court-page, and
swaggers along London Bridge at this hour of the night, chanting
a love song. Faith! it would puzzle the sphinx herself to read
this riddle, I've a notion!"
"I, for one, shall never try to read it," said Sir Norman. "I am
about tired of this labyrinth of mysteries, and shall save time
and La Masque to unravel them at their leisure."
"Then you mean to give up the pursuit?"
"Not exactly. I love this mysterious beauty too well to do that;
and when next I find her, be it where it may, I shall take care
she does not slip so easily through my fingers."
"I cannot forget that page," said Ormiston, musingly. "It is
singular, since, he wears the Earl of Rochester's livery, that we
have never seen him before among his followers. Are you quite
sure, Sir Norman, that you have not?"
"Seen him? Don't be absurd, Ormiston! Do you think I could ever
forget such a face as that?"
"It would not be easy, I confess. One does not see such every
day. And yet - and yet - it is most extraordinary!"
"I shall ask Rochester about him the first thing to-morrow; and
unless he is an optical illusion - which I vow I half believe is
the case - I will come at the truth in spite of your demoniac
friend, La Masque!"
"Then you do not mean to look for him to-night?"
"Look for him? I might as well look for a needle in a haystack.
No! I have promised La Masque to visit the old ruins, and there
I shall go forthwith. Will you accompany me?"
"I think not. I have a word to say to La, Masque, and you and
she kept talking so busily, I had no chance to put it in."
Sir Norman laughed.
"Besides, I have no doubt it is a word you would not like to
utter in the presence of a third party, even though that third
party be your friend and Pythias, Kingsley. Do you mean to stay
here like a plague-sentinel until she returns?"
"Possibly; or if I get tired I may set out in search of her.
When do you return?"
"The Fates, that seem to make a foot-ball of my best affections,
and kick them as they please, only know. If nothing happens -
which, being interpreted, means, if I am still in the land of the
living - I shall surely be back by daybreak."
"And I shall be anxious about that time to hear the result of
your night's adventure; so where shall we meet?"
"Why not here? it is as good a place an any."
"With all my heart. Where do you propose getting a horse?"
"At the King's Arms - but a stones throw from here. Farewell."
"Good-night, and God speed you!" said Ormiston. And wrapping his
cloak close about him, he leaned against the doorway, and,
watching the dancing lights on the river, prepared to await the
return of La Masque.
With his head full of the adventures and misadventures of the
night, Sir Norman walked thoughtfully on until he reached the
King's Arms - a low inn on the bank of the river. To his dismay
he found the house shut up, and bearing the dismal mark and
inscription of the pestilence. While he stood contemplating it
in perplexity, a watchman, on guard before another plague-
stricken house, advanced and informed him that the whole family
had perished of the disease, and that the landlord himself, the
last survivor, had been carried off not twenty minutes before to
the plague-pit.
"But," added the man, seeing Sir Norman's look of annoyance, and
being informed what he wanted, "there are two or three horses
around there in the stable, and you may as well help yourself,
for if you don't take them, somebody else will."
This philosophic logic struck Sir Norman as being so extremely
reasonable, that without more ado he stepped round to the stables
and selected the best it contained. Before proceeding on his
journey, it occurred to him that, having been handling a plague-
patient, it would be a good thing to get his clothes fumigated;
so he stepped into an apothecary's store for that purpose, and
provided himself also with a bottle of aromatic vinegar. Thus
prepared for the worst, Sir Norman sprang on his horse like a
second Don Quixote striding his good steed Rozinante, and sallied
forth in quest of adventures. These, for a short time, were of
rather a dismal character; for, hearing the noise of a horse's
hoofs in the silent streets at that hour of the night, the people
opened their doors as he passed by, thinking it the pest-cart,
and brought forth many a miserable victim of the pestilence.
Averting his head from the revolting spectacles, Sir Norman held
the bottle of vinegar to his nostrils, and rode rapidly till he
reached Newgate. There he was stopped until his bill of health
was examined, and that small manuscript being found all right, he
was permitted to pass on in peace. Everywhere he went, the trail
of the serpent was visible over all. Death and Desolation went
hand in hand. Outside as well as inside the gates, great piles
of wood and coal were arranged, waiting only the midnight hour to
be fired. Here, however, no one seemed to be stirring; and no
sound broke the silence but the distant rumble of the death-cart,
and the ringing of the driver's bell. There were lights in some
of the houses, but many of them were dark and deserted, and
nearly every one bore the red cross of the plague.
It was a gloomy scene and hour, and Sir Norman's heart turned
sick within him as he noticed tho ruin and devastation the
pestilence had everywhere wrought. And he remembered, with a
shudder, the prediction of Lilly, the astrologer, that the paved
streets of London would be like green fields, and the living be
no longer able to bury the dead. Long before this, he had grown
hardened and accustomed to death from its very frequence; but
now, as he looked round him, he almost resolved to ride on and
return no more to London till the plague should have left it.
But then came the thought of his unknown lady-love, and with it
the reflection that he was on his way to find her; and, rousing
himself from his melancholy reverie, he rode on at a brisker
pace, heroically resolved to brave the plague or any other
emergency, for her sake. Full of this laudable and lover-like
resolution, he had got on about half a mile further, when he was
suddenly checked in his rapid career by an exciting, but in no
way surprising, little incident.
During the last few yards, Sir Norman had come within sight of
another horseman, riding on at rather a leisurely pace,
considering the place and the hour. Suddenly three other
horsemen came galloping down upon him, and the leader presenting
a pistol at his head, requested him in a stentorial voice for his
money or his life. By way of reply, the stranger instantly
produced a pistol of his own, and before the astonished
highwayman could comprehend the possibility of such an act,
discharged it full in his face. With a loud yell the robber
reeled and fell from his saddle, and in a twinkling both his
companions fired their pistols at the traveler, and bore, with a
simultaneous cry of rage, down upon him. Neither of the shots
had taken effect, but the two enraged highwaymen would have made
short work of their victim had not Sir Norman, like a true
knight, ridden to the rescue. Drawing his sword, with one
vigorous blow he placed another of the assassins hors de combat;
and, delighted with the idea of a fight to stir his stagnant
blood, was turning (like a second St. George at the Dragon), upon
the other, when that individual, thinking discretion the better
part of valor, instantaneously turned tail and fled. The whole
brisk little episode had not occupied five minutes, and Sir
Norman was scarcely aware the fight had began before it had
triumphantly ended.
"Short, sharp, and decisive!" was the stranger's cool criticism,
as he deliberately wiped his blood=stained sword, and placed it
in a velvet scabbard. "Our friends, there, got more than they
bargained for, I fancy. Though, but for you, Sir," he said,
politely raising him hat and bowing, "I should probably have been
ere this in heaven, or - the other place."
Sir Norman, deeply edified by the easy sang-froid of the speaker,
turned to take a second look at him. There was very little
light; for the night had grown darker as it wore on, and the few
stars that had glimmered faintly had hid their diminished heads
behind the piles of inky clouds. Still, there was a sort of
faint phosphorescent light whitening the gloom, and by it Sir
Norman's keen bright eyes discovered that he wore a long dark
cloak and slouched hat. He discovered something else, too - that
he had seen that hat and cloak, and the man inside of them on
London Bridge, not an hour before. It struck Sir Norman there
was a sort of fatality in their meeting; and his pulses quickened
a trifle, as he thought that he might be speaking to the husband
of the lady for whom he had so suddenly conceived such a rash and
inordinate attachment. That personage meantime having reloaded
his pistol, with a self-possession refreshing to witness,
replaced it in his doublet, gathered up the reins, and, glancing
slightly at his companion, spoke again
"I should thank you for saving my life, I suppose, but thanking
people is so little in my line, that I scarcely know how to set
about it. Perhaps, my dear sir, you will take the will for the
deed."
"An original, this," thought Sir Norman, "whoever he is." Then
aloud: "Pray don't trouble yourself about thanks, sir, I should
have dome precisely the same for the highwaymen, had you been
three to one over them."
"I don't doubt it in the least; nevertheless I feel grateful, for
you have saved my life all the same, and you have never seen me
before."
"There you are mistaken," said Sir Norman, quietly "I had the
pleasure of seeing you scarce an hour ago."
"Ah!" said the stranger, in an altered tone, "and where?"
"On London Bridge."
"I did not see you."
"Very likely, but I was there none the less."
"Do you know me?" said the stranger; and Sir Norman could see he
was gazing at him sharply from under the shadow of his slouched
hat.
"I have not that honor, but I hope to do so before we part."
"It was quite dark when you saw me on the bridge - how comes it,
then, that you recollect me so well?"
"I have always been blessed with an excellent memory," said Sir
Norman carelessly, "and I knew your dress, face, and voice
instantly."
"My voice! Then you heard me speak, probably to the watchman
guarding a plague-stricken house?"
"Exactly! and the subject being a very interesting one, I
listened to all you said."
"Indeed I and what possible interest could; the subject have for
you, may I ask?"
"A deeper one than you think!" said Sir Norman, with a slight
tremor in his voice as he thought of the lady, "the watchman told
you the lady you sought for had been carried away dead, and
thrown into the plague-pit!"
"Well," cried the stranger starting violently, "and was it not
true?"
"Only partly. She was carried away in the pest-cart sure enough,
but she was not thrown into the plague-pit!"
"And why?"
"Because, when on reaching that horrible spot, she was found to
be alive!"
"Good Heaven! And what then?"
"Then," exclaimed Sir Norman, in a tone almost as excited as his
own, "she was brought to the house of a friend, and left alone
for a few minutes, while that friend went in search of a doctor.
On returning they found her - where do you think?"
"Where?"
"Gone!" said Sir Norman emphatically, "spirited away by some
mysterious agency; for she was dying of the plague, and could not
possibly stir hand or foot herself."
"Dying of the plague, O Leoline!" said the stranger, in a voice
full of pity and horror, while for a moment he covered his face
with his hands.
"So her name is Leoline?" said Sir Norman to himself. "I have
found that out, and also that this gentleman, whatever he may be
to her, is as ignorant of her whereabouts as I am myself. He
seems in trouble, too. I wonder if he really happens to be her
husband?"
The stranger suddenly lifted his head and favored Sir Norman with
a long and searching look.
"How come you to know all this, Sir Norman Kingsley," he asked
abruptly.
"And how come you to know my name?" demanded Sir Norman, very
much amazed, notwithstanding his assertion that nothing would
astonish him more.
"That is of no consequence! Tell me how you've learned all
this?" repeated the stranger, in a tone of almost stern
authority.
Sir Norman started and stared. That voice I have had heard it a
thousand times! It had evidently been disguised before; but now,
in the excitement of the moment, the stranger was thrown off his
guard, and it became perfectly familiar. But where had he heard
it? For the life of him, Sir Norman could not tell, yet it was
as well known to him as his own. It had the tone, too, of one
far more used to command than entreaty; and Sir Norman, instead
of getting angry, us he felt he ought to have done, mechanically
answered:
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