Elster's Folly, Mrs. Henry Wood [ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt] 📗

Off Her Slippers,  Unseen,  And Hid Them Under

A Chair.

 

"Remain Here With The Children," Was Her Order To The Nurse Who Appeared,

As She Shut The Woman Into The Room.

 

Creeping Down Softly She Opened The Door Of The Room Behind The Library,

And Glided In. It Was A Small Room,  Used Exclusively By Lord Hartledon,

Where He Kept A Heterogeneous Collection Of Things--Papers,  Books,

Cigars,  Pipes,  Guns,  Scientific Models,  Anything--And Which No One But

Himself Ever Attempted To Enter. The Intervening Door Between That And

The Library Was Not Quite Closed; And Lady Hartledon,  Cautiously Pushed

It A Little Further Open. Wilful,  Unpardonable Disobedience! When He Had

So Strongly Forbidden Her! It Was The Same Tall Stranger. He Was Speaking

In Low Tones,  And Lord Hartledon Leaned Against The Wall With A Blank

Expression Of Face.

 

She Saw; And Heard. But How She Controlled Her Feelings,  How She Remained

And Made No Sign,  She Never Knew. But That The Instinct Of Self-Esteem

Was One Of Her Strongest Passions,  The Dread Of Detection In Proportion

To It,  She Never Had Remained. There She Was,  And She Could Not Get Away

Again. The Subtle Dexterity Which Had Served Her In Coming Might Desert

Her In Returning. Had Their Senses Been On The Alert They Might Have

Heard Her Poor Heart Beating.

 

The Interview Did Not Last Long--About Twenty Minutes; And Whilst Lord

Hartledon Was Attending His Visitor To The Door She Escaped Upstairs

Again,  Motioned Away The Nurse,  And Resumed Her Shoes. But What Did She

Look Like? Not Like Maude Hartledon. Her Face Was As That Of One Upon

Whom Some Awful Doom Has Fallen; Her Breath Was Coming Painfully; And She

Kneeled Down On The Carpet And Clasped Her Children To Her Beating Heart

With An Action Of Wild Despair.

 

"Oh,  My Boy! My Boy! Oh,  My Little Maude!"

 

Suddenly She Heard Her Husband's Step Approaching,  And Pushing Them

From Her,  Rose And Stood At The Window,  Apparently Looking Out On The

Darkening World.

 

Lord Hartledon Came In,  Gaily And Cheerily,  His Manner Lighter Than It

Had Been For Years.

 

"Well,  Maude,  I Have Not Been Long,  You See. Why Don't You Have Lights?"

 

She Did Not Answer: Only Stared Straight Out. Her Husband Approached Her.

"What Are You Looking At,  Maude?"

 

"Nothing," She Answered: "My Head Aches. I Think I Shall Lie Down Until

Dinner-Time. Eddie,  Open The Door,  And Call Nurse,  As Loud As You Can

Call."

 

The Little Boy Obeyed,  And The Nurse Returned,  And Was Ordered To Take

The Children. Lady Hartledon Was Following Them To Go To Her Own Room,

When She Fell Into A Chair And Went Off In A Dead Faint.

 

"It's That Excitement," Said Val. "I Do Wish Maude Would Be Reasonable!"

 

The Illness,  However,  Appeared To Be More Serious Than An Ordinary

Fainting-Fit; And Lord Hartledon,  Remembering The Suspicion Of

Heart-Disease,  Sent For The Family Doctor Sir Alexander Pepps,  An

Oracle In The Fashionable World.

 

A Different Result Showed Itself--Equally Caused By Excitement--And The

Countess-Dowager Arrived In A Day Or Two In Hot Haste. Lady Hartledon Lay

In Bed,  And Did Not Attempt To Get Up Or To Get Better. She Lay Almost As

One Without Life,  Taking No Notice Of Any One,  Turning Her Head From Her

Husband When He Entered,  Refusing To Answer Her Mother,  Keeping The

Children Away From The Room.

 

"Why Doesn't She Get Up,  Pepps?" Demanded The Dowager,  Wrathfully,

Pouncing Upon The Physician One Day,  When He Was Leaving The House.

 

Sir Alexander,  Who Might Have Been Supposed To Have Received His

Baronetcy For His Skill,  But That Titles,  Like Kissing,  Go By Favour,

Stopped Short,  Took Off His Hat,  And Presumed That Lady Hartledon Felt

More Comfortable In Bed.

 

"Rubbish! We Might All Lie In Bed If We Studied Comfort. Is There Any

Earthly Reason Why She Should Stay There,  Pepps?"

 

"Not Any,  Except Weakness."

 

"Except Idleness,  You Mean. Why Don't You Order Her To Get Up?"

 

"I Have Advised Lady Hartledon To Do So,  And She Does Not Attend To Me,"

Replied Sir Alexander.

 

"Oh," Said The Dowager. "She Was Always Wilful. What About Her Heart?"

 

"Her Heart!" Echoed Sir Alexander,  Looking Up Now As If A Little Aroused.

 

"Dear Me,  Yes; Her Heart; I Didn't Say Her Liver. Is It Sound,  Pepps?"

 

"It's Sound,  For Anything I Know To The Contrary. I Never Suspected

Anything The Matter With Her Heart."

 

"Then You Are A Fool!" Retorted The Complimentary Dowager.

 

Sir Alexander's Temperament Was Remarkably Calm. Nothing Could Rouse

Him Out Of His Tame Civility,  Which Had Been Taken More Than Once For

Obsequiousness. The Countess-Dowager Had Patronized Him In Earlier Years,

When He Was Not A Great Man,  Or Had Begun To Dream Of Becoming One.

 

"Don't You Recollect I Once Consulted You On The Subject--What's Your

Memory Good For? She Was A Girl Then,  Of Fourteen Or So; And You Were

Worth Fifty Of What You Are Now,  In Point Of Discernment."

 

The Oracle Carried His Thoughts Back,  And Really Could Not Recollect It.

"Ahem! Yes; And The Result Was--Was--"

 

"The Result Was That You Said The Heart Had Nothing The Matter With It,

And I Said It Had," Broke In The Impatient Dowager.

 

"Ah,  Yes,  Madam,  I Remember. Pray,  Have You Reason To Suspect Anything

Wrong Now?"

 

"That's What You Ought To Have Ascertained,  Pepps,  Not Me. What D'you

Mean By Your Neglect? What,  I Ask,  Does She Lie In Bed For? If Her

Heart's Right,  There's Nothing More The Matter With Her Than There Is

With You."

 

"Perhaps Your Ladyship Can Persuade Lady Hartledon To Exert Herself,"

Suggested The Bland Doctor. "I Can't; And I Confess I Think That She Only

Wants Rousing."

 

With A Flourish Of His Hat And His Small Gold-Headed Black Cane The

Doctor Bowed Himself Out From The Formidable Dowager. That Lady Turned

Her Back Upon Him,  And Betook Herself On The Spur Of The Moment To

Maude's Room,  Determined To "Have It Out."

 

Curious Sounds Greeted Her,  As Of Some One In Hysterical Pain. On The

Bed,  Clasped To His Mother In Nervous Agony,  Was The Wondering Child,

Little Lord Elster: Words Of Distress,  Nay,  Of Despair,  Breaking From

Her. It Seemed,  The Little Boy,  Who Was Rather Self-Willed And Rebellious

On Occasion,  Had Escaped From The Nursery,  And Stolen To His Mother's

Room. The Dowager Halted At The Door,  And Looked Out From Her Astonished

Eyes.

 

"Oh,  Edward,  If We Were But Dead! Oh,  My Darling,  If It Would Only Please

Heaven To Take Us Both! I Couldn't Send For You,  Child; I Couldn't See

You; The Sight Of You Kills Me. You Don't Know; My Babies,  You Don't

Know!"

 

"What On Earth Does All This Mean?" Interrupted The Dowager,  Stepping

Forward. And Lady Hartledon Dropped The Boy,  And Fell Back On The Bed,

Exhausted.

 

"What Have You Done To Your Mamma,  Sir?"

 

The Child,  Conscious That He Had Not Done Anything,  But Frightened On The

Whole,  Repented Of His Disobedience,  And Escaped From The Chamber More

Quickly Than He Had Entered It. The Dowager Hated To Be Puzzled,  And Went

Wrathfully Up To Her Daughter.

 

"Perhaps You'll Tell Me What's The Matter,  Maude."

 

Lady Hartledon Grew Calm. The Countess-Dowager Pressed The Question.

 

"There's Nothing The Matter," Came The Tardy And Rather Sullen Reply.

 

"Why Do You Wish Yourself Dead,  Then?"

 

"Because I Do."

 

"How Dare You Answer Me So?"

 

"It's The Truth. I Should Be Spared Suffering."

 

The Countess-Dowager Paused. "Spared Suffering!" She Mentally Repeated;

And Being A Woman Given To Arriving At Rapid Conclusions Without Rhyme Or

Reason,  She Bethought Herself That Maude Must Have Become Acquainted With

The Suspicion Regarding Her Heart.

 

"Who Told You That?" Shrieked The Dowager. "It Was That Fool Hartledon."

 

"He Has Told Me Nothing," Said Maude,  In An Access Of Resentment,  All Too

Visible. "Told Me What?"

 

"Why,  About Your Heart. That's What I Suppose It Is."

 

Maude Raised Herself Upon Her Elbow,  Her Wan Face Fixed On Her Mother's.

"Is There Anything The Matter With My Heart?" She Calmly Asked.

 

And Then The Old Woman Found That She Had Made A Grievous Mistake,  And

Hastened To Repair It.

 

"I Thought There Might Be,  And Asked Pepps. I've Just Asked Him Now; And

He's Says There's Nothing The Matter With It."

 

"I Wish There Were!" Said Maude.

 

"You Wish There Were! That's A Pretty Wish For A Reasonable Christian,"

Cried The Tart Dowager. "You Want Your Husband To Lecture You; Saying

Such Things."

 

"I Wish He Were Hanged!" Cried Maude,  Showing Her Glistening Teeth.

 

"My Gracious!" Exclaimed The Wondering Old Lady,  After A Pause. "What Has

He Done?"

 

"Why Did You Urge Me To Marry Him? Oh,  Mother,  Can't You See That I Am

Dying--Dying Of Horror--And Shame--And Grief? You Had Better Have Buried

Me Instead."

 

For Once In Her Selfish And Vulgar Mind The Countess-Dowager Felt A

Feeling Akin To Fear. In Her Astonishment She Thought Maude Must Be Going

Mad.

 

"You'd Do Well To Get Some Sleep,  Dear," She Said In A Subdued Tone; "And

To-Morrow You Must Get Up; Pepps Says So; He Thinks You Want Rousing."

 

"I Have Not Slept Since; It's Not Sleep,  It's A Dead Stupor,  In Which

I Dream Things As Horrible As The Reality," Murmured Maude,  Unconscious

Perhaps That She Spoke Aloud. "I Shall Never Sleep Again."

 

"Not Slept Since When?"

 

"I Don't Know."

 

"Can't You Say What You Mean?" Cried The Puzzled Dowager. "If You've Any

Grievance,  Tell It Out; If You've Not,  Don't Talk Nonsense."

 

But Lady Hartledon,  Though Thus Sweetly Allured To Confession,  Held Her

Tongue. Her Half-Scattered Senses Came Back To Her,  And With Them A

Reticence She Would Not Break. The Countess-Dowager Hardly Knew Whether

She Deserved Pitying Or Shaking,  And Went Off In A Fit Of Exasperation,

Breaking In Upon Her Son-In-Law As He Was Busy Looking Over Some Accounts

In The Library.

 

"I Want To Know What Is The Matter With Maude."

 

He Turned Round In His Chair,  And Met The Dowager's Flaxen Wig And

Crimson Face. Val Did Not Know What Was The Matter With His Wife Any More

Than The Questioner Did. He Supposed She Would Be All Right When She Grew

Stronger.

 

"She Says It's _You_" Said The Gentle Dowager,  Improving Upon Her

Information. "She Has Just Been Wishing You Were Hanged."

 

"Ah,  You Have Been Teasing Her," He Returned,  With Composure. "Maude Says

All Sorts Of Things When She's Put Out."

 

"Perhaps She Does," Was The Retort; "But She Meant This,  For She Showed

Her Teeth When She Said It. You Can't Blind Me; And I Have Seen Ever

Since I Came Here That There Was Something Wrong Between You And Maude."

 

For That Matter,  Val Had Seen It Too. Since The Night Of His Wife's

Fainting-Fit She Had Scarcely Spoken A Word To Him; Had Appeared As If

She Could Not Tolerate His Presence For An Instant In Her Room. Lord

Hartledon Felt Persuaded That It Arose From Resentment At His Having

Refused To Allow Her To See The Stranger. He Rose From His Seat.

 

"There's Nothing Wrong Between Me And Maude,  Lady Kirton. If There Were,

You Must Pardon Me For Saying That I Could Not Suffer Any Interference In

It. But There Is Not."

 

"Something's Wrong Somewhere. I Found Her Just Now Sobbing And Moaning

Over Eddie,  Wishing They Were Both Dead,  And All The Rest Of It. If She

Goes On Like This For Nothing,  She's Losing Her Senses,  That's All."

 

"She'll Be All Right When She's Stronger. Pray Don't Worry Her. She'll Be

Well Soon,  I Daresay. And Now I Shall Be Glad If You'll Leave Me,  For I

Am Very Busy."

 

She Did Not Leave Him Any The Quicker For The Request,  But Stayed To

Worry Him,  As It Was In Her Nature To Worry Every One. Getting Rid Of Her

At Last,  He Turned The Key Of The Door,  And Wished Her A Hundred Miles

Away.

 

The Wish Bore Fruit. In A Few Days Some News She Heard Regarding Her

Eldest Son--Who Was A Widower Now--Took The Dowager To Ireland,  And Lord

Hartledon Wished He Could As Easily Turn The Key Of The House Upon Her As

He Had Turned That Of The Room.

Chapter 29 (The Sword Slipped)

Summer Dust Was In The London Streets,  Summer Weather In The Air,  And The

Carriage Of That Fashionable Practitioner,  Sir Alexander Pepps,  Still

Waited Before