“Yes, of course; James would be the best!”
“You know where he sleeps?”
“Yes, I know.”
Lady Sarah leant her head against the pillow, trembling violently.
“You would have to go downstairs, to pass within a few yards of the strong-room door—they might see you—and if they did?—No, no! I cannot let you go. Poor child, poor child! Your safety is of more value than anything they can take. It is too great a risk.”
“Dear Lady Sarah, I am not afraid. I will creep along so quietly that they will never hear me, and once down, it will not take me a minute to run along the passage. Don’t try to prevent me, I must go—I must! I couldn’t stay quietly here while Mrs Faucit was being robbed. See! here is the key, Cécile left it in the lock. Get up and fasten yourself in, and don’t open the door until I come back. You won’t be nervous?”
“Not for myself—no, no!—but for you, Mildred. No, you shall not go, I will not allow it! Your mother—”
“Mother would go herself. She is the bravest little creature in the world. I am not afraid. If they see me I will make a dash for it, and scream at the pitch of my voice. You will hear, the others will hear, the whole house will be in a tumult, and they will be glad to escape and let me alone. But I want to take them by surprise, and not let them get away. I’m going now. There is not a minute to waste. Be careful how you shut the door. Don’t be frightened. If you hear no noise you will know all is well.”
Mildred drew the folds of her gown round her, and stepped out into the passage. The lamps were out, but the moonlight poured in by the long windows, and saved her from all danger of stumbling. Round the corner, past the door of her own room, along to the head of the staircase she crept, so far with nothing more than consciousness of excitement and enterprise; but here the dangerous part of her mission began, and she paused for a moment to draw breath and consider how she had best proceed. The staircase descended in flights of six steps at a time, during two of which only she would be within sight from the hall beneath. One of the steps, she knew, creaked. Which was it? In which flight? Stupid not to remember when she had noticed it so many, many times! There was only one thing for it; to tread each step as lightly as possible, and to trust that the thieves might be so busily engaged that they would not notice such a gentle sound. She bent down to fasten the woollen slippers more closely, then slowly, cautiously began the descent. No step creaked beneath her feet, but when she reached the bottom of the second flight of stairs, it was not relief but disappointment which she felt, for she realised that the dangerous point must now be passed, while she was in sight of anyone who might be standing in the hall beneath.
Suppose Cécile had stationed one of her accomplices outside the door of the strong-room, to guard against possible discovery? Suppose with the next step forward she found herself confronted by a burly rascal, ready to spring forward and silence her cries with a heavy hand pressed over her lips? Mildred set her teeth with the old obstinate expression, and stepped determinedly forward. She had known from the outset that there was a certain amount of danger in her mission; she was not to be dismayed by the first alarm. Another moment and she was within sight of the strong-room, to discover, with a thrill of relief, that the thieves were too busily engaged getting together their spoil to have time to play sentry. A faint light shone from within the half-closed door; Mildred held her breath, and could hear a murmur of voices, an occasional clicking, as of steel instruments upon a hard substance.