Then she concealed in her bosom all the cash she had in hand, being about fifteen hundred pounds in Bank of England notes, which she had previously drawn out for her own private uses during her bridal tour. This she thought would go far to meet the unknown expenses of her future. She also took her diamonds. She might have to sell them, she thought, for support.
Then, when she was quite ready, dressed in the dark gray suit, sack, hat, vail and gloves, and with a small valise in her hand, she went into her bath-room, and to the back door at the head of the private stairs leading down to the little garden of roses that was her own favorite bower.
She watched for a few seconds, to be sure that no one was in sight, and then she slipped swiftly down the stairs and crossed the garden to a narrow back door, which she quickly opened and pa.s.sed through, shutting it after her. It closed with a spring and cut off her re-entrance there, even if she had been disposed to turn back.
But she was not.
She glanced nervously up and down the lane at the back of the garden wall, but saw no one there.
Then she walked rapidly away, and turned into a narrow street, keeping her gray vail doubled over her face all the time.
She purposely lost herself in a labyrinth of narrow streets, getting farther and farther from her home, before she ventured near a cab-stand.
At length she hailed a closed cab, engaged it, entered it, closed all the blinds, and directed the driver to take her to the Brighton, Dover, and South Coast Railway Station at London Bridge, and promised him a half-sovereign if he would catch the next train.
Yes! after a few moments of rapid reflection, as to whither she would go, she resolved to leave London by that very same tidal-train on which she and her husband were to have commenced their bridal tour, for there, of all places, she felt that she would be safest from pursuit; that, of all directions, would be the last in which they would think of seeking her!
And while they should be waiting and watching for her at Elmhurst House, she would be speeding towards the sea coast, and by the time they should discover her flight, she would be on the Channel, _en voyage_ for Calais.
Beyond this she had no settled plan of action. She did not know where she would go, or what she should do, on reaching France.
She only longed, with breathless anxiety, to fly from England, from the Duke of Hereward, and all the horrors connected with him. She felt that she was not his wife, could never have been his wife, and that the mockery of a marriage ceremony, which had been performed for them by the Bishop of London that morning, at St. George"s Hanover Square, had made the duke a felon and not a husband!
If she should remain in England she might even be called upon, in the course of events, to take a part in his prosecution. And guilty as she believed him to be, she could not bring herself to do that!
No! she must fly from England and conceal herself on the Continent!
But where?
She knew not as yet!
Her mind was in a fever of excitement when she reached London Bridge.
She paid and discharged her cab, giving the driver the promised half sovereign for catching the train.
Then, with her thick vail folded twice over her pale face, and her little valise in her hand, she went into the station, made her way to the office and bought a first-cla.s.s ticket.
Then she went to the train, and stopping before one of the first carriages called a guard to unlock the door and let her enter.
"Oh, you can"t have a seat in this compartment, Miss," said a somewhat garrulous old guard, coming up to her. "This whole carriage is reserved for a wedding party--the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Hereward, as were married this morning, and their graces" retinue, which they are expected to arrive every minute, Miss. But you can have a seat in _this_ one, Miss. It is every bit as good as the other," concluded the old man, leading the way to a lady"s carriage some yards in advance.
"Reserved for a wedding party--reserved for the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Hereward and their retinue!"
How her heart fainted, almost unto death, with a new sense of infinite disappointment and regret at what might have been and what was! Reserved for the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Hereward! Ah, Heaven!
"Here you are, Miss!" said the guard, opening the door of an empty carriage.
"How long will it be before the train starts?" inquired the fugitive in a low voice.
The guard looked at his big silver watch and answered:
"Time"ll be up in three minutes, Miss."
"But if the--the--wedding party should not arrive before that?"
hesitatingly inquired Salome.
"Train starts all the same, Miss! Can"t even wait for dukes and d.u.c.h.esses. "Gin the law!" answered the old guard, as he touched his hat and closed and locked the door.
Salome sank back in her deeply-cushioned seat, thankful, at least, that she was alone in the carriage.
And in three minutes the tidal train started.
CHAPTER XIX.
SALOME"S REFUGE.
Salome was scarcely sane. Married that morning, with the approval and congratulations of all her friends, by one of the most venerable fathers of the church, to one of the most distinguished young n.o.blemen in the peerage, who was also the sole master of her heart, and--
Flying from her bridegroom this afternoon as from her worst and most hated enemy!
She could not realize her situation at all.
All seemed a horrible nightmare dream, from which she was powerless to arouse herself; in which she was compelled to act a painful part, until some merciful influence from without should awaken and deliver her!
In this dream she was whirled onward toward the South Coast, on that clear, autumnal afternoon.
In this dream she reached Dover, and got out at the station amid all the confusion attending the arrival of the tidal train, and the babel of voices from cabmen, porters, hotel runners, and such, shouting their offers of:
"Carriage, sir!"
"Carriage, ma"am!"
"Steamboat!"
"Calais steamer!"
"Lord Warden"s!"
"Victoria!" and so forth.
Acting instinctively and mechanically, she made her way to the steamboat.
There seemed to be an unusually large number of people going across.