Run to Earth, Mary Elizabeth Braddon [epub ebook reader .TXT] 📗

were in some

manner proving her devotion to the husband from whom she had become so

mysteriously estranged.

 

Amongst the many plans which had been set on foot for the amusement of

the guests at Raynham, there was one on which all the visitors, male

and female, had especially set their hearts. This much-talked-of

entertainment was a pic-nic, to take place at a celebrated spot, whose

picturesque loveliness was supposed to be unrivalled in the county, and

scarcely exceeded by any scene in all the expanse of fair England.

 

CHAPTER VIII.

 

AFTER THE PIC-NIC.

 

The place was called the Wizard’s Cave. It was a gigantic grotto, near

which flowed a waterfall of surpassing beauty. A wild extent of

woodland stretched on one side of this romantic scene; on the other a

broad moor spread wide before a range of hills, one of which was

crowned by the ruins of an old Norman castle that had stood many a

siege in days gone by.

 

It would have been difficult to select a spot better adapted for a picnic; and some of the gentlemen who had ridden over to inspect the scene

were rapturous in their praises of its sylvan beauty. The cave lay

within ten miles of Raynham. “Just the distance for a delightful

drive,” said the ladies—and from the moment that Sir Oswald had

proposed the entertainment, there had been perpetual discussion of the

arrangements necessary, the probability of fine weather, and the date

to be finally chosen. The baronet had proposed this rustic f�te when

his own heart had been light and happy; now he looked forward to the

day with a sickening dread of its weariness. Others would be happy; but

the sound of mirthful voices and light laughter would fall with a

terrible discordance on the ear of the man whose mind was tortured by

hidden doubts. Sir Oswald was too courteous a host to disappoint his

visitors. All the preparations for the rustic festival were duly made:

and on the appointed morning a train of horses and carriages drew up in

a line in the quadrangle of the castle.

 

It would have been impossible to imagine a brighter picture of English

life; and as the guests emerged in groups from the wide, arched

doorway, and took their places in the carriages, or sprang lightly into

their saddles, the spectacle grew more and more enlivening.

 

Lydia Graham had done her utmost to surpass all rivals on this

important day. Wealthy country squires and rich young lordlings were to

be present at the festival, and the husband-huntress might, perchance,

find a victim among these eligible bachelors. Deeply as she was already

in debt, Miss Graham had written to her French milliner, imploring her

to send her a costume regardless of expense, and promising a speedy

payment of at least half her long-standing account. The fair and false

Lydia did not scruple to hint at the possibility of her making a

brilliant matrimonial alliance ere many months were over, in order that

this hope might beguile the long-suffering milliner into giving further

credit.

 

The fashionable beauty was not disappointed. The milliner sent the

costume ordered, but wrote to inform Miss Graham, with all due

circumlocution and politeness, that, unless her long-standing account

were quickly settled, legal proceedings must be taken. Lydia threw the

letter aside with a frown, and proceeded to inspect her dress, which

was perfect in its way.

 

But Miss Graham could scarcely repress a sigh of envy as she looked at

Lady Eversleigh’s more simple toilet, and perceived that, with all its

appearance of simplicity, it was twice as costly as her own more

gorgeous attire. The jewels, too, were worth more than all the trinkets

Lydia possessed; and she knew that the treasures of Lady Eversleigh’s

jewel-cases were almost inexhaustible, with such a lavish hand had her

husband heaped his gifts upon her.

 

“Perhaps he will not be so liberal with his presents in future,”

thought the malicious and disappointed woman, as she looked at Honoria,

and acknowledged to her own envious heart that never had she seen her

look more beautiful, more elegant, or more fitted to adorn the position

which Miss Graham would willingly have persuaded herself she disgraced.

“If he thinks that her love is bestowed upon another, he will scarcely

find such delight in future in offering her costly tributes of

affection.”

 

There was a great deal of discussion as to who should occupy the

different carriages; but at last all was arranged apparently to every

one’s satisfaction. There were many who had chosen to ride; and among

the equestrians was Sir Oswald himself.

 

For the first time in any excursion, the baronet deserted his

accustomed place by the side of his wife. Honoria deeply felt the

slight involved in this desertion; but she was too proud to entreat him

to alter his arrangements. She saw his favourite horse brought round to

the broad steps; she saw her husband mount the animal without a word of

remonstrance, without so much as a reproachful glance, though her heart

was swelling with passionate indignation. And then she took her place

in the barouche, and allowed the gentlemen standing near to assist in

the arrangement of the shawls and carriage-rugs, which were provided in

case of change of weather.

 

Sir Oswald was not slow to remark that appearance of indifference. When

once estrangement has arisen between those who truly love each other,

everything tends to widen the breach. The jealous husband had chosen to

separate himself from his wife in a sudden impulse of angry distrust;

but he was still more angry, still more distrustful, when he saw her

apparent carelessness of his desertion.

 

“She is happier without me,” he thought, bitterly, as he drew his horse

on one side, and watched all that took place around the barouche.

“Unrestrained by my presence, she will be free to revel in the

flatteries of her younger admirers. She will be perfectly happy, for

she will forget for a while that she is chained for life to a husband

whom she does not love.”

 

A silvery laugh from Honoria seemed to answer his thoughts, and to

confirm his suspicions. He little dreamed that laugh was assumed, in

order to deceive the malicious Lydia, who had just uttered a polite

little speech, intended to wound the mistress of Raynham.

 

The baronet kept his horse a little way behind the carriage, and

watched his wife with jealous and angry eyes.

 

Lydia Graham had taken her seat in the barouche, and there was now a

slight discussion as to the gentlemen who should accompany the two

ladies. Many were eager for the privilege, and the occasion was a

fitting one for the display of feminine coquetry. Miss Graham did not

neglect the opportunity; and after a little animated conversation

between the lady and a young fop who was heir to a peerage, the

lordling took his place opposite the fashionable beauty.

 

The second place still remained unoccupied. The baronet waited with

painful eagerness to see who would take this place, for amongst the

gentlemen grouped about the door of the carriage was Victor Carrington.

 

Sir Oswald had not to wait long. He ground his teeth in a sudden access

of jealous fury as he saw the young surgeon step lightly into the

vehicle, and seat himself opposite Lady Eversleigh. He took it for

granted that it was on that lady’s invitation the young man occupied

this place of honour. He did not for a moment imagine that it was at

Lydia Graham’s entreaty the surgeon had taken his seat in the barouche.

And yet it was so.

 

“Do come with us, Mr. Carrington,” Lydia had said. “I know that you are

well versed in county history and archaeology, and will be able to tell

us all manner of interesting facts connected with the villages and

churches we pass on our road.”

 

Lydia Graham hated Honoria for having won the proud position she

herself had tried so hard to attain; she hated Sir Oswald for having

chosen another in preference to herself; and she was determined to be

revenged on both. She knew that her hints had already had their effect

on the baronet; and she now sought, by every base and treacherous

trick, to render Honoria Eversleigh an object of suspicion in the eyes

of her husband. She had a double game to play; for she sought at once

to gratify her ambition and her thirst for revenge. On one hand she

wished to captivate Lord Sumner Howden; on the other she wanted to

widen the gulf between Sir Oswald and his wife.

 

She little knew that she was only playing into the hands of a deeper

and more accomplished schemer than herself. She little thought that

Victor Carrington’s searching glance had penetrated the secrets of her

heart; and that he watched her malicious manoeuvres with a calm sense

of amusement.

 

Though August had already given place to September, the weather was

warm and balmy, as in the full glory of midsummer.

 

Sir Oswald rode behind Lady Eversleigh’s barouche, too remote to hear

the words that were spoken by those who occupied the vehicle; but quite

near enough to distinguish the tones and the laughter, and to perceive

every gesture. He saw Victor bend forward to address Honoria. He saw

that deferential and devoted manner which had so much offended him

since he had first set himself to watch the surgeon. And Lady

Eversleigh did not discourage her admirer; she let him talk; she seemed

interested in his conversation; and as Lydia Graham and Lord Howden

were entirely occupied with each other, the conversation between

Honoria was a complete t�te-�-t�te. The young man’s handsome head

bent lower and lower over the plumed hat of Lady Eversleigh; and with

every step of that ten-mile journey, the cloud that overshadowed the

baronet’s mind grew more profound in its fatal gloom. He no longer

struggled against his doubts—he abandoned himself altogether to the

passion that held possession of him.

 

But the eyes of the world were on Sir Oswald, and he was obliged to

meet those unpitying eyes with a smile. The long line of equipages drew

up at last on the margin of a wood; the pleasure-seekers alighted, and

wandered about in twos and threes amongst the umbrageous pathways which

led towards the Wizard’s Cave.

 

After alighting from the barouche, Lady Eversleigh waited to see if her

husband would approach her, and offer his arm; she had a faint hope

that he would do so, even in spite of his evident estrangement; but her

hope was cruelly disappointed. Sir Oswald walked straight to a portly

dowager, and offered to escort her to the cave.

 

“Do you remember a pic-nic here twenty years ago, at which you and I

danced together by moonlight, Lady Hetherington?” he said. “We old

folks have pleasant memories of the past, and are the fittest

companions for each other. The young people can enjoy themselves much

better without the restraint of our society.”

 

He said this loud enough for his wife to hear. She did hear every word,

and felt there was hidden significance in that careless speech. For a

moment she was inclined to break down the icy barrier of reserve. The

words which she wanted to speak were almost on her lips, “Let me go

with you, Oswald.” But in the next instant she met her husband’s eyes,

and their cold gaze chilled her heart.

 

At the same moment Victor Carrington offered her his arm, with his

accustomed deferential manner. She accepted the proffered arm, scarcely

knowing who offered it, so deeply did she feel her husband’s

unkindness.

 

“What have I done to offend him?” she thought. “What is this cruel

mystery which