Basil and Annette: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

With a certain conclusion in her mind, Annette busied herself as to the means of carrying it out when the proper time arrived. By Gilbert Bidaud's orders the gates were kept locked, and the duty of opening them devolved upon a man who did all the outdoor work in the house and grounds. Emily's advances towards this man met with no response; other means, therefore, must be tried. She had always been successful in making friends outside Gilbert Bidaud's establishment, through whom she obtained her letters from home, and the friend she had made in the village in which the Villa Bidaud was situated was the woman who kept the post-house. It was a matter easily arranged. Annette was a liberal mistress, and Emily was a saving girl; a judicious system of small bribes effected all that Emily desired in this respect. Twice or thrice every week she visited the post-mistress to enquire for letters, and these visits were made in the night, the darkest hours being chosen. The gates being locked she could not get out that way, and she sought another mode of egress. She found it in the lodge in which Gilbert Bidaud and Newman Chaytor held their conference. There was a secure lock on the front door, of which Gilbert, or his sister, kept the key, but the lock on the back door was frail, and Emily discovered how to manage it, so that she could get in and out of the lodge without any person being the wiser. Once inside the lodge Emily would creep up the stairs to the first floor, the window of the back room of which almost touched the stone wall which ran round the grounds. This wall was some seven feet in height, but there were dilapidations in it which served for foot-holes, and by means of these luckily-formed steps the courageous girl was enabled to pass to and fro and make the desired visits to the post-mistress. Of course there was the danger of discovery, but Emily was a girl in a thousand, and the extraordinary care she took in these enterprises was a fair guarantee of safety. The lonely situation of the house assisted her; there were nights when, for hours together, not a human being traversed the narrow road into which the front gate opened.

On the night of the secret interview between Gilbert and Chaytor, Emily had planned a visit to the post-mistress. She made her way into the lodge unobserved, crept up the stairs in the dark, and was about to open the back window, when her attention was arrested by a sound below, which, as she afterwards described, sent her heart into her mouth. It was the sound of the unlocking of the front door. Emily's heart went rub-a-dub with the fear that she was discovered, but as the slow minutes passed without anything occurring, her fear lessened, and she became sufficiently composed to give attention to the circumstances. Softly opening the door which led to the staircase, she heard voices in a room below which she recognised as those of Gilbert Bidaud and the man who called himself Basil Whittingham. What had they come there to say? Why could they not have spoken in the house? They must be hatching some plot against her young mistress. At all hazards, she would try to hear what they were saying to each other. Quietly, very quietly, she descended the stairs, setting her feet down with the greatest care, and pausing between each step. A cat could not have trod more noiselessly than she. At length she reached the door beyond which the conversation was taking place, and crouching down she applied her eye to the keyhole. There were the two men, one with a smile on his face, the other, dark and sinister; and Emily observed that they were not standing side by side, but that a broad table was between them. This precaution had been taken by Gilbert, who was quite prepared for any sudden attempt at violence on Chaytor's part.

Emily was too late to hear all that was said, but she heard enough. Had she not exercised control over her feelings she would have screamed with mingled joy and horror; as it was, the tears ran down her face as fast as she wiped them away, for she wanted to see as much as she could. The brave girl thanked God that a fortunate conjuncture had made her a witness of the interview between the two villains. Now, certainly, her dear mistress was saved, and she the instrument to avert the misery with which she was threatened; for it was not alone the projected marriage which was breaking Annette's heart, but the loss of faith in the purity and nobility of Basil's nature. Emily waited very nearly to the end; she saw Gilbert take out his watch and count the moments, she heard the bargain agreed to and the second interview at midnight planned, and then, just in time, she crept up the stairs as softly as she had crept down, and waited in the room above until the two men left the lodge.

What now should she do? Return to the house, and acquaint Annette with what she had heard, or go to the post-mistress to see if there was a letter for her? If she went straight to Annette she might not have another opportunity of getting out that night; besides, she expected a letter from her mother, and was anxious for it. She decided to go first to the post-mistress; Annette knew that she would be away for some little while, and had said, "I shall wait up for you, Emily."

She threw open the window, and climbed on to the wall, and down into the road. It was very dark, and as Gilbert Bidaud had prognosticated, a storm was gathering, but Emily knew her way well to the post-office, and was not afraid of darkness. So she sped along under the waving branches and over black shadows till she arrived at her destination. Once on her way she was startled; she thought she saw something more substantial than shadow moving by the road side, but after pausing to look and listen her alarm subsided; all was quiet and still.

There was no light in the post-house, which was little better than a cottage, but Emily did not expect to see one. She tapped at the shutters, and a woman's voice from within asked if that was "Miss Emily." The girl answering in the affirmative, a woman appeared at the door and bade her enter.

"Have you a letter for me?" said Emily.

"Yes," the woman replied, "she had a letter for her," and produced it.

"Why," cried Emily, "this is not from England?" No, said the woman, it was not from England, and explained that a gentleman had visited her in the evening, and had made enquiries concerning the Villa Bidaud and its inmates. Hearing that Miss Annette Bidaud was there, he had then inquired for the young lady's maid, mentioning her by name, Miss Emily Crawford. The gentleman asked if the post-mistress was likely to see the girl, and whether she could convey a letter to her secretly that night or early in the morning. The post-mistress said she could not promise to do so that night, but she would endeavour to convey the letter in the morning, and added that it was not unlikely Miss Emily would come before them to inquire for letters. "If she does," said the gentleman, "give her this, and ask her to read it here, before she goes back to the villa. It is a letter of the utmost importance, and it must fall into no other hands than Miss Emily's." The post-mistress concluded by saying that the gentleman had paid her well for the service, and that she was sure there was something very particular in the letter.

Emily, although burning with impatience, listened quietly to the tale, holding the letter tight in her hand all the time, and when the woman had done speaking asked only one question.