Run to Earth, Mary Elizabeth Braddon [epub ebook reader .TXT] 📗
- Author: Mary Elizabeth Braddon
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“Come, Lady Eversleigh,” cried several voices; “we want you to
accompany us to the Wizard’s Cave.”
Nothing could be more successful than the pic-nic. Elegantly dressed
women and aristocratic-looking men wandered here and there amidst the
woodland, and by the margin of the waterfall; sometimes in gay little
parties, whose talk and laughter rang out clearly on the balmy air;
sometimes strolling t�te-�-t�te, and engaged in conversations of a
more confidential character. Half-hidden by the foliage of a little
thicket of pollard oaks, there was a military band, whose services Sir
Oswald had obtained from a garrison-town some twenty miles from
Raynham, and the stirring music added much to the charm of the
festival.
Lydia Graham was as happy as it is possible for any evil-minded woman
to be. Her envious feelings were lulled to temporary rest by the
enjoyment of her own triumphs; for the young lordling seemed to be
completely subjugated by her charms, and devoted himself exclusively to
attendance upon her.
The scheming beauty’s heart thrilled with a sense of triumph. She
thought that she had at last made a conquest that might be better worth
the making than any of those past conquests, which had all ended in
such bitter disappointments.
She looked at Lady Eversleigh with flashing eyes, as she remembered
that by the subjugation of this empty-headed young nobleman she might
attain a higher position and greater wealth than that enjoyed by Sir
Oswald’s envied wife.
“As Lady Sumner Howden, I could look down upon the mistress of Raynham
Castle,” she thought. “As Countess of Vandeluce, I should take
precedence of nobler women than Lady Eversleigh.”
The day waned. The revellers lingered long over the splendid collation,
served in a marquee which had been sent from York for the occasion. The
banquet seemed a joyous one, enlivened by the sound of laughter, the
popping of champagne corks, the joyous talk that emanated alike from
the really light-hearted and those whose gaiety is only a mockery and a
sham. The sun was sloping westward when Lady Eversleigh arose, absent
and despondent, to give the signal for the withdrawal of the ladies.
As she did so, she looked to the other end of the marquee—to the table
where her husband had been seated. To her surprise, his place was
empty.
Throughout the whole day Honoria had been a prey to gloomy forebodings.
The estrangement between herself and her husband was so unexpected, so
inexplicable, that she was powerless to struggle against the sense of
misery and bewilderment which it had occasioned in her mind.
Again and again she asked herself what had she done to offend him;
again and again she pondered over the smallest and most insignificant
actions—the lightest words—of the past few weeks, in order to
discover some clue to the mystery of Sir Oswald’s altered conduct.
But the past afforded her no such clue. She had said nothing, she had
done nothing, which could offend the most sensitive of men.
Then a new and terrible light began to dawn upon her. She remembered
her wretched extraction—the pitiable condition in which the baronet
had discovered her, and she began to think that he repented of his
marriage. “He regrets his folly, and I am hateful in his eyes,” thought
Honoria, “for he remembers my degraded position—the mystery of my past
life. He has heard sneering words and cruel innuendoes fall from the
lips of his fashionable friends, perhaps; and he is ashamed of his
marriage. He little knows how gladly I would release him from the tie
that binds us—if, indeed, it has grown hateful to him.” Thus musing
and wandering alone, in one of the forest pathways—for she had
outstripped her guests, and sought a little relief for her overwrought
spirits, constrained to the courtesies of her position for the moment—
she scarcely knew whither, she came presently upon a group of grooms,
who were lounging before a rough canvas tent, which had been erected
for the accommodation of the horses.
“Is ‘Orestes’ in that tent, Plummer?” she asked of the old groom who
generally attended her in her rides and drives.
“No, my lady, Sir Oswald had him saddled a quarter of an hour ago, and
rode him away.”
“Sir Oswald has gone away!”
“Yes, my lady. He got a message, I think, while he was sitting at
dinner, and he rode off as fast as he could go, across th’ moor—it’s
the nighest way to the castle, you know, my lady; though it ain’t the
pleasantest.”
Honoria grew very uneasy. What was the meaning of this sudden
departure?
“Do you know who brought the message from Raynham?” she asked the
groom.
“No, indeed, my lady. I don’t even know for sure and certain that the
message was from Raynham. I only guess as much.”
“Why did not Sir Oswald take you with him?”
“I can’t say, my lady. I asked master if I wasn’t to go with him, and
he said, ‘No, he would rather be alone.’” This was all that Honoria
could learn from the groom. She walked back towards the marquee, whence
the sound of voices and laughter grew louder as the sun sank across the
broad expanse of moorland.
The ladies of the party had gathered together on a broad patch of
velvet greensward, near the oak thicket where the band was stationed.
Here the younger members of the party were waltzing merrily to the
accompaniment of one of Strauss’s sweetest waltzes; while the elders
sat here and there on camp-stools or fallen logs of trees, and looked
on, or indulged in a little agreeable gossip.
Honoria Eversleigh made her way unobserved to the marquee, and
approached one of the openings less used and less crowded than the
others. Here she found a servant, whom she sent into the marquee with a
message for Mr. Eversleigh, to inquire if he could explain Sir Oswald’s
sudden departure.
The man entered the tent, in obedience to his mistress; and Lady
Eversleigh seated herself on a camp-stool, at a little distance,
awaiting the issue of her message.
She had been waiting only a few moments, when she saw Victor Carrington
approaching her hurriedly—not from the marquee, but from the pathway
by which she herself had come. There was an unwonted agitation about
his manner as he approached her, which, in her present state of nervous
apprehension, filled her with alarm.
She went to meet him, pale and trembling.
“I have been looking for you everywhere, Lady Eversleigh,” he said,
hurriedly.
“You have been looking for me? Something has happened then-Sir
Oswald—”
“Yes, it is, unhappily, of Sir Oswald I have to speak.”
“Speak quickly, then. What has happened? You are agonizing me, Mr.
Carrington—for pity’s sake, speak! Your face fills me with fear!”
“Your fears are, unhappily, too well founded. Sir Oswald has been
thrown from his horse, on his way across the moor, and lies dangerously
hurt, at the ruins of Yarborough Tower—that black building on the edge
of the moor yonder. A lad has just brought me the tidings.”
“Let me go to him—for heaven’s sake, let me go at once! Dangerously
hurt—he is dangerously hurt, you say?”
“I fear so, from the boy’s account.”
“And we have no medical man among our company. Yes; you are a surgeon—
you can be of assistance.”
“I trust so, my dear Lady Eversleigh. I shall hurry to Sir Oswald
immediately, and in the meantime they have sent from the tower for
medical help.”
“I must go to him!” said Honoria, wildly. “Call the servants, Mr.
Carrington! My carriage—this moment!”
She could scarcely utter the words in her excitement. Her voice had a
choking sound, and but for the surgeon’s supporting arm she must have
fallen prone on the grass at his feet.
As she clung to his arm, as she gasped out her eager entreaties that he
would take her to her husband, a faint rustling stirred the underwood
beneath some sycamores at a little distance, and curious eyes peered
through the foliage.
Lydia Graham had happened to stroll that way. Her curiosity had been
excited by the absence of Lady Eversleigh from among her guests, and,
being no longer occupied by her flirtation with the young viscount, she
had set out in search of the missing Honoria.
She was amply rewarded for her trouble by the scene which she beheld
from her hiding-place among the sycamores.
She saw Victor and Lady Eversleigh talking to each other with every
appearance of agitation; she saw the baronet’s wife clinging, in some
wild terror, to the arm of the surgeon; and she began to think that
Honoria Eversleigh was indeed the base and guilty wretch she would fain
have represented her.
Lydia Graham was too far from the two figures to hear a word that was
spoken. She could only watch their gestures, and draw her own
inferences therefrom.
“My carriage, Mr. Carrington!” repeated Honoria; “why don’t you call
the servants?”
“One moment, Lady Eversleigh,” said the surgeon, calmly. “You must
remember, that on such an occasion as this, there is nothing so
important as presence of mind—self-command. If I alarm your servants,
all the guests assembled here will take the alarm; and they will rush
helter-skelter to Yarborough Tower, to testify their devotion to Sir
Oswald, and to do him all the harm they possibly can. What would be the
effect of a crowd of half-drunken men, clustering round him, with their
noisy expressions of sympathy? What I have to propose is this: I am
going to Sir Oswald immediately in my medical capacity. I have a gig
and horse ready, under that group of fir-trees yonder—the fastest
horse and lightest vehicle I could find. If you will trust yourself in
that vehicle behind that horse, I will drive you across the moor, and
we shall reach the ruins in half an hour. Have you courage to come with
me thus, Lady Eversleigh, quietly, unobserved by any one?—or will you
wait for your barouche; and wait until the revellers yonder are all
ready to start with you?”
The voices came loudly from the marquee as the surgeon spoke; and
Honoria felt that he spoke wisely.
“You are right,” she said; “these people must know nothing of the
accident until my husband is safely back at Raynham. But you had better
go and tell Plummer, the groom, to send the barouche after us. A
carriage will be wanted to convey Sir Oswald from the tower, if he is
fit to be moved.”
“True,” answered Victor; “I will see to it.”
“And quickly!” cried Lady Eversleigh; “go quickly, I implore. You will
find me by the fir-trees when you return, ready to start with you! Do
not waste time in words, Mr. Carrington. Remember, it is a matter of
life and death.”
Victor left her, and she walked to the little grove of firs, where she
found the gig of which he had spoken, and the horse standing near it,
ready harnessed, and with his bridle fastened to a tree.
Two pathways led to this fir-grove—a lower and an upper—the upper
completely screened by brushwood. Along this upper pathway, which was
on the edge of a sloping bank, Lydia Graham made her way, careless what
injury she inflicted on her costly dress, so eager was she to discover
whither lady Eversleigh was going. Completely hidden from Honoria,
though at only a few paces’ distance, Miss Graham waited to watch the
proceedings of the baronet’s wife.
She was mystified by the appearance of the gig and horse, stationed in
this out-of-the-way spot. She was
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