The Golden Cage Page 12

  Then, as she wanted to go on asking questions, he pulled her into his arms to kiss her and words were quite unnecessary.

  Only the last night when they were at sea and Crisa knew that the next morning they would dock at Le Havre, did she face up to the truth that her fairy story had come to an end.

  Because she could not bear to be disillusioned or hear Adrian tell her that in the circumstances he could not marry her, she had to disappear.

  ‘I will wait until we reach London,’ she thought, ‘and then, while he goes to his house, I will say that I am going to stay with a relation. That, although he will not realise it, will be the last time he will see me.’

  Even to think of it was to make her feel as if her whole body were torn apart and she wanted to cry out at the agony of it.

  But it was the only thing she could do and she thought that, when she reached Little Royden village and found Nanny, she would then plan her future sensibly and without crying about it.

  She knew it was important not to let Adrian have the slightest suspicion that everything was not exactly as he had assumed.

  Because he was very perceptive where she was concerned and, as he had said, could read her thoughts, she knew how careful she must be in case he guessed that she intended to leave him.

  During the last two days his arm had been so much better that he had discarded his sling and Crisa knew from Jenkins that the wound was practically healed.

  “It’s the honey that has done it!” she exclaimed delightedly.

  “If you’re not careful, miss, you’ll get yourself burnt as a witch!” Jenkins said. “But I has to admit the Master’s better and happier than I’ve ever known him!”

  He grinned at her as he spoke and Crisa knew he was well aware of what they felt for each other.

  When she awoke to see the coast of France from her porthole, she had a wild impulse to run to Adrian and tell him the truth.

  ‘He loves me – he loves me enough,’ she said in her heart defiantly.

  Then once again she could hear him saying that the idea of a rich wife disgusted him and she knew that her mountain of gold would be a stumbling block for any man, let alone somebody as positive in his views as Adrian.

  ‘I love him! I love him!’ Crisa cried to herself despairingly, but she knew that to cope with this obstacle love was not enough.

  She had packed her luggage the night before and now, when it was ready and labelled for London, she went from her cabin, carrying her cloak over her arm, towards Adrian’s State room.

  Jenkins let her in.

  “Mornin’, miss!” he said cheerfully. “The Master’s nearly ready!”

  “Come here, Crisa!” he heard Adrian call from the other cabin.

  She went in through the communicating door to find him already dressed.

  He was not wearing his dark glasses and she thought as she looked at him how extremely handsome he was and how different from any man she had ever seen.

  He smiled at her and said,

  “When Jenkins was packing he came across a photograph of my house that I took with the first camera I ever owned. I thought you might like to see it.”

  “Of course I would!” Crisa exclaimed.

  He turned to Jenkins.

  “Fetch Miss Wayne’s luggage and put it with mine, then it can go directly into our cabin on the Steamer.”

  “Yes, of course, sir,” Jenkins said and left.

  Then Adrian declared,

  “Before I show you anything, I want to tell you how lovely you are looking this morning, and I so want to kiss you.”

  Crisa raised her face to his.

  “That is – what I want too,” he whispered.

  He put his arms around her and his lips had just touched hers when the door opened and Jenkins came back into the cabin.

  Instinctively they moved apart as he said in a low voice,

  “There be two Officers from the Sûreté, sir, to see you.”

  Crisa gave a little gasp and Adrian stiffened.

  Then he asked Jenkins,

  “They are in the State room next door?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well, I will see them. You fetch the luggage, as I told you.”

  Jenkins went out into the corridor and Adrian moved towards the communicating door.

  “Wait here!” he said very softly to Crisa and disappeared into the State room.

  Crisa waited, her heart pounding.

  Then she realised that, although Adrian had closed the door behind him, it was not latched properly.

  She could therefore hear him say quite distinctly in his excellent French,

  “Good morning, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

  “You are my Lord Hawthorpe?” one of the Officers enquired.

  “I am!”

  “Then we are honoured to meet you, monsieur, and we have been instructed by the Chef de la Sûreté in Paris to convey to you his compliments and to ask if you would be kind enough to accept his invitation, together with that of the Prime Minister, to go immediately to Paris instead of returning, as we understand you intend to do, to England.”

  There was a short pause while Crisa, listening, could hardly believe what she was hearing.

  How was it possible that the man she had known and loved as Adrian Thorpe was in fact a member of the aristocracy and someone, she was quite sure, who was very important?

  ‘Why did you not tell me?’ she longed to ask him, but could only listen as he replied,

  “You say the Prime Minister wishes to see me?”

  “It is not only the Prime Minister, my Lord,” was the reply, “but also Monsieur Le Président himself. In fact he has already arranged for the Presidential Coach to be attached to the train, so that you may travel in comfort.”

  There was a note of awe in the speaker’s voice that told Crisa what this privilege meant.

  She was not surprised to hear Adrian answer,

  “In that case, messieurs, you will understand that I should be honoured to accept both your Président and your Prime Minister’s invitation and I will, at their request, change my plans and proceed to Paris.”

  “Merci, monsieur, we are very grateful.”

  “I am sure it is not too early in the morning,” Crisa heard Adrian add, “to offer you a drink. Will you have a glass of sherry or would you prefer something else?”

  Crisa guessed that he had walked across the cabin to where on a sideboard there were a number of different bottles and glasses that had been there all during the voyage.

  It was when she heard the two men from the Sûreté mumble acceptance that she realised that her luggage must not be put on the train with Adrian’s, but should travel with her in the Steamer that was waiting to convey the English passengers to Southampton.

  Opening the door into the corridor, she planned to find Jenkins and prevent him from moving her luggage as his Master had told him to do.

  To reach her own cabin she had to pass the Purser’s office, which stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the Dining Saloon.

  There were a great number of people, most of them intent on leaving the Liner for the train to Paris and just a few English travellers who were to cross the Channel.

  Crisa was hurrying on to her own cabin when she heard a man speaking in a distinctly English voice which seemed to ring out clearly above the chatter of French voices.

  “ – I wish to speak immediately, before she leaves the ship, to Miss Christina Wayne!”

  She was so surprised at what she heard that she stopped dead, looked towards the Purser’s office and saw, standing at the open desk, a tall man with his back to her.

  She could not see his face, but she knew immediately that it was Mr. Metcalfe, her late husband’s solicitor in England!

  It was then with a sense of panic, without thinking, that she ran back along the corridor from which she had just come, not stopping at the familiar State room, where she had been so happy, but on to the very end, whe
re she knew that there was a stairway leading down to the lower deck.

  As she reached the Second Class, she sped along the corridor pushing past a number of people with their luggage until she found the gangplank that led her onto the quay.

  Still pushing and shoving her way past men carrying cases, women with bundles and babies, she reached the quay and found her way to the Channel Steamer.

  Fortunately, when she had boarded La Touraine, she had explained that she was going to England and had bought a ticket that entitled her to be a First Class passenger on a Steamer to Southampton.

  As soon as she was on board, she went down into the Saloon and seated herself in the most obscure corner she could find.

  There were a number of elderly men and women already there, but she fancied that those who were younger and more adventurous would prefer to be on deck.

  She was, however, concerned with nothing except escaping from Mr. Metcalfe.

  She realised now that he must have been informed by wireless from America that she was missing and perhaps either he or members of his staff had met every Liner that had left New York on the day she had disappeared into St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

  She felt that she should commend the Vanderhaults for their efficiency, but at the same time she was terrified.

  She was sure that she would be browbeaten and somehow coerced into returning back to Silas’s relatives, who would all be waiting for her and with them Thomas Bamburger.

  She suspected, however, that Mr. Metcalfe was genuinely looking for ‘Christina Wayne’, but the moment he saw her he would recognise her and the search would be over.

  ‘He cannot make me go back,’ Crisa told herself forcefully.

  But she knew that with no one to support her it would be almost impossible to hold out against the will and determination of the whole Vanderhault family and their legal advisors like Mr. Metcalfe, who would all be on their side.

  Once again she was alone, but she thought frantically that, if she could just reach England, there would be somewhere she would hide where they would not find her.

  She wanted to think. She could not bear to look at the people around her or hear the chatter and noise as they talked and laughed.

  She put her hands up to her face, trying to plan, at the same time praying with an urgency that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul that she could escape.

  ‘Oh, God, help me!’ she prayed and prayed.

  Then she almost gave a little scream as she felt somebody touch her shoulder lightly.

  She looked up, afraid of who she might see, and saw that it was Jenkins.

  “The Master wants you, miss,” he said simply.

  “I-I cannot – I have to go –”

  Suddenly the words died on her lips.

  It was no use.

  If Adrian wanted her, there was nothing she could do but go to him, even if it meant that he would be handing her over to Mr. Metcalfe.

  Jenkins was waiting and, although she wanted to argue, it was impossible to do so because he was only carrying out his Master’s orders and they were surrounded by people staring at them curiously.

  She rose to her feet, aware as she did so that, apart from looking much smarter and more elegant than anyone else, she had left her fur-trimmed cape behind and she would, if she had sailed without it, have found it very cold at sea.

  This was a problem that no longer arose and she followed Jenkins off the Streamer and onto the dock, feeling not unlike a child who has misbehaved by running away from her nurse or her teacher.

  On the other hand, she was also a prisoner being taken back into a cage from which there would be no chance of another escape.

  Now, as she stood in the sunshine, she wondered if she should insist on travelling to England as she had intended.

  Then she knew that she had not the courage to defy Adrian, who had sent for her, and anyway by this time Mr. Metcalfe would have described her to him and he would know who she was

  “You’ll have to hurry, miss,” Jenkins said, breaking in on her thoughts, “they’re holdin’ the train until you gets there.”

  “The – the train?” Crisa gasped.

  Then it was impossible to talk as Jenkins, who was walking so quickly that she almost had to run to keep up, was leading her away from the quay, where she had boarded the Steamer, and to the other side of the dock, where the train for Paris was drawn up alongside La Touraine.

  As they reached it, she was aware of several gendarmes and two men in uniform who looked, she thought, as if they were members of the Sûreté waiting beside one of the coaches, which was attached to the end of the train and, painted a different colour, looked very impressive.

  Then Jenkins was guiding her up the steps and into what Crisa saw was a drawing room compartment.

  Standing in the centre of it, very tall, imposing and, she thought somehow frightening, was Adrian.

  For a moment they just looked at each other and, as her eyes seemed to fill her whole face, he realised how nervous and upset she was.

  He did not speak to her, instead he said to the man standing just inside the door,

  “Now that Miss Wayne has joined me, monsieur, the train can depart and I can only express my regret at the delay.”

  “Merci, my Lord,” the Frenchman said. “Bon voyage!”

  He left the compartment and Jenkins followed him.

  There was a chatter of voices and a shrill whistle as the guard signalled the departure of the train and a second later it started to move.

  “Come to sit down,” Adrian said.

  He put out his hand as he spoke to steady her as the train started moving.

  Then, as she sank down on the nearest seat, which happened to be a sofa on which he could sit beside her, he asked, still in the same quiet voice,

  “Why did you not tell me?”

  “H-how could I – ?” Crisa began and then she asked, “What has – happened? You know I cannot – come with you – and where is – Mr. Metcalfe?”

  Adrian smiled before he replied,

  “So many questions, when I think I should be the one asking them.”

  “N-no – you have – no right.”

  “I thought I had every right, seeing that I am going to be your husband.”

  Crisa drew in a deep breath before she said,

  “I-I thought you – must have seen – Mr. Metcalfe.”

  “I have seen him and he told me that he wished to question a Miss Christina Wayne about the disappearance of Mrs. Crisa Vanderhault from New York on the same day as she embarked on La Touraine.”

  Crisa closed her eyes, but she did not speak.

  Then Adrian said,

  “I could hardly believe that there was another woman as beautiful as Mr. Metcalfe described to me, who was also called ‘Crisa’.”

  “So now you know – or rather – you have guessed.”

  Crisa spoke with a note of panic in her voice as she added,

  “But where – is Mr. Metcalfe? What have you – done with – him? Is he waiting for me – somewhere on the – train?”

  “I assured him that with the help of Miss Christina Wayne I will let him know the whereabouts of Mrs. Crisa Vanderhault very shortly.”

  “You – told him – that?”

  “Yes and he was quite satisfied. I left him enjoying a glass of champagne in my State room while I boarded the train.”

  “Then he has – no idea that I am – with you?”

  “Not unless he is a thought reader.”

  Crisa gave a deep sigh of relief. She felt as if it was possible to breathe again and the blood came back into her heart.

  “That means I have a chance to escape,” she said. “Oh, please – please – help me to hide where they cannot find me – and make me go back to – New York.”

  “That is not difficult.”

  “You don’t – understand – it is very difficult – there are so many of them – they are overwhelming, and they are – determined
to prevent me from going away from them – that is why I invented ‘Christina Wayne’!”

  “That was very intelligent of you, and you must tell me all about it,” Adrian said. “In the meantime, I cannot have you looking as frightened as you do now, when there is no need for it.”

  “That is because you don’t – understand,” Crisa cried. “I have to hide – and, of course, it is – frightening!”

  “I agree you have to hide,” Adrian said, “and I am prepared to help you.”

  “Will you really – will you really – help me?”

  “Of course! And that is why we will be married the moment we reach Paris.”

  There was a sudden silence while Crisa looked at him as if she could not believe what he had said.

  Then slowly, hesitatingly, as if it was hard to speak, she said,

  “Y-you know that I – cannot marry you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because – of my m-money – I know what you feel about – women with money – and I have so much – and they will not – let me give it away.”

  “When I spoke about women with money,” Adrian replied, “I was speaking in the abstract, while now I am speaking about you.”

  “Do you think – I could marry you,” Crisa asked, “knowing that you said the idea – disgusted you – and you would never have a wife who was richer than you are yourself?”

  “That is what I still feel in principle,” he said, “but actually, my darling, I would marry you if you had not a penny to your name, which I believed, since you were working as a secretary or on the contrary if you were as rich as Croesus or even if you had a mountain of gold!”

  “That is – exactly what I do – have,” Crisa said with a little sob in her voice.

  “Then one way or another we will put it to some sensible use,” Adrian said. “I have every intention of making you my wife and I will not be diverted from that object by anything you may possess or not possess.”

  “You – don’t mean that – because you don’t – understand!”

  He laughed and it was, she thought, a very happy sound.