Run to Earth, Mary Elizabeth Braddon [classic literature books txt] 📗

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 still more mystified when she saw Lady Eversleigh clasp her hands before her face, and stand for a few moments, motionless and statue-like, as if abandoned to despair.

"What does it all mean?" Miss Graham asked herself. "Surely she cannot intend to elope with this Carrington. She may be wicked; but she cannot be so insane as to throw away wealth and position for the sake of this foreign adventurer."

She waited, almost breathless with excitement, crouching amongst the brushwood at the top of the woody bank, and looking downward towards the fir-grove, with watchful eyes. She had not to wait long. Victor appeared in a few minutes, out of breath from running.

"Have you given orders about the carriage?"

"Yes, I have given all necessary orders."

No more was said. Victor handed Lady Eversleigh into the vehicle, and drove away--slowly while they were still on the edge of the wood; but accelerating his pace as they emerged upon the moorland.

"It _is_ an elopement!" exclaimed Miss Graham, whose astonishment was unbounded. "It _is_ an elopement! The infamous creature has gone off with that penniless young man. And now, Sir Oswald, I think you will have good reason to repent your fine romantic marriage with a base-born adventuress, whom nobody ever heard of until she burst forth upon the world as Lady Eversleigh of Raynham Castle."

Filled with the triumphant delight of gratified malice, Lydia Graham went back to the broad greensward by the Wizard's Cave. The gentlemen had now left the marquee; the full moon was rising, round and yellow, on the horizon, like a great globe of molten gold. Preparations had already commenced for the return, and the younger members of the party were busy discussing the arrangements of the homeward drive.

That moonlight drive was looked forward to as one of the chief pleasures of the excursion; it would afford such glorious opportunities for flirtation. It would enable romantic young ladies to quote so much poetry about the moon and the summer night, while poetically-disposed young gentlemen replied in the same strain. All was animation and excitement. The champagne and burgundy, the sparkling hock and moselle, which had been consumed in the marquee, had only rendered the majority of the gentlemen more gallant and agreeable; and softly-spoken compliments, and tender pressures of pretty little delicately-gloved hands, testified to the devotion of the cavaliers who were to escort the band of fair ones homeward.

Lydia Graham hoped that she would be able to take up the thread of her flirtation with Lord Howden exactly where it had dropped when she had risen to leave the dinner-table. She had thought it even possible that, if she could secure a _tête-à-tête_ drive home with the weak-brained young nobleman, she might lure him on until he made a formal proposal, from which he would find it no easy matter to recede; for Captain Graham was at his sister's call, and was a gentleman of no very yielding temper where his own interests were at stake. He had long been anxious that his sister should make a wealthy marriage, for her debts and difficulties annoyed him; and he felt that if she were well married, he would be able to borrow money of her, instead of being pestered by her applications for assistance.

Miss Graham was doomed to endure a disappointment. Lord Sumner Howden was one of the few gentleman upon whom iced champagne and moselle had produced anything but an exhilarating effect. He was dull and stupid, pallid and sleepy; like some great, greedy school-boy who has over- eaten himself, and is suffering the consequences of his gluttony.

The fair Lydia had the mortification of hearing him tell one of the grooms to put him into a close carriage, where he could have a nap on his way home.

Reginald Eversleigh took the lordling's seat in the barouche, which was the first in the line of carriages for the homeward journey, in spite of Honoria's entreaties to Victor Carrington. The young man was almost as dull and stupid, to all appearance, as Lord Sumner Howden; but, although he had been drinking deeply, intoxication had nothing to do with his gloomy silence.

He knew that Carrington's scheme had been ripening day by day; and he knew also that within a few hours the final blow was to be struck. He did not know the nature of that intended stroke of treachery; but he was aware that it would involve misery and humiliation for Sir Oswald, utter ruin and disgrace for Honoria. The very uncertainty as to the nature of the cruel plot made it all the more dreadful; and he waited with no very pleasant feelings for the development of his friend's scheme.

When all was ready for the start, it was discovered that "dear Lady Eversleigh" was missing. Servants were sent in every direction to search for her; but with no avail. Sir Oswald was also missed; but Plummer, the old groom, informed Mr. Eversleigh that his uncle had left some hours before; and as some of the party had seen the baronet leave the dinner-table, in compliance with a sudden summons, this occasioned little surprise.

The next person missed was Victor Carrington. It was Lydia who drew attention to the fact of his absence.

The party waited an hour, while search for Lady Eversleigh was renewed in every direction, while many of the guests expressed their fears that something must have happened to her--that she had wandered too far, and lost her way in the wood--or that she had missed her footing on the edge of one of the deep pools by the cavern, and had fallen into the water--or that she had been attacked by ruffians.

But in due time it was discovered that Mr. Carrington had been seen to take a gig from amongst the vehicles; and a lad, who had been in charge of the gig and the horse belonging to it, told the other servants that Mr. Carrington had said he wanted the vehicle to drive Lady Eversleigh home. She was tired, Mr. Carrington had said, and wanted to go home quietly.

This information was brought to Reginald by one of the upper servants; and the question of Lady Eversleigh's disappearance being at once set at rest, the procession of carriages moved away in the moonlight.

"It was really too bad of dear Lady Eversleigh to give us such unnecessary alarm," said Lydia Graham.

The lady who had taken the second place in the barouche agreed with this remark.

"I never was more alarmed in my life," she said. "I felt sure that something very dreadful must have happened."

"And to think that Lady Eversleigh should prefer going home in a gig," said Lydia, maliciously; "for my part, I think a gig a most unpleasant vehicle."

The other lady whispered something about Lady Eversleigh's humble extraction, and her ignorance of the usages of society.

"You can't wonder at it, my dear," she murmured. "For my part, I was surprised to see her so much at her ease in her new position. But, you see, her ignorance has now betrayed her into a terrible breach of the proprieties. Her conduct is, to say the least of it, most eccentric; and you may depend, no one here will ever forget this ride home in a gig with that clever young surgeon. I don't suppose Sir Oswald will very much approve of such conduct."

"Nor I," said Lydia, in the same subdued tone. "Poor Sir Oswald! What could he expect when he disgraced himself by such a marriage?"

Reginald Eversleigh leaned back in the carriage, with his arum folded, and his eyes fixed on vacancy, while the ladies gossipped in whispers.

* * * * *

CHAPTER IX.


ON YARBOROUGH TOWER.

No sooner had Victor Carrington got completely clear of the wood, than he drove his horse at a gallop.

The light gig swayed from side to side, and jolted violently several times on crossing some obstruction in the way.

"You are not afraid?" asked Victor.

"I am only afraid of delay," answered Honoria, calmly; for by this time she had recovered much of her ordinary firmness, and was prepared to face her sorrow with at least outward tranquillity. "Tell me, Mr. Carrington, have you reason to think that my husband is in great danger?"

"I can tell you nothing for certain. You know how stupid the country people are. The boy who brought the message told me that the gentleman had been thrown from his horse, and was very much hurt. He was insensible, and was injured about the head. I gathered from this, and from the boy's manner, rather than his words, that the injuries were very serious."

"Why was Sir Oswald taken to such a wretched place as a ruined tower?"

"Because the accident happened near the ruin; and your husband was found by the people who have charge of the tower."

"And could they take him to no better place?"

"No. There is no habitation of any kind within three miles."

No more was said. It was not very easy to talk while flying through the air at the utmost speed of a spirited horse.

The moon bathed the broad moorland in mellow light. The wide expanse of level turf looked like a sea of black water that had suddenly been frozen into stillness. Not a tree--not a patch of brushwood, or a solitary bush--broke the monotony of the scene: but far away against the moonlit horizon rose a wild