Run to Earth, Mary Elizabeth Braddon [epub ebook reader .TXT] 📗
- Author: Mary Elizabeth Braddon
- Performer: -
Book online «Run to Earth, Mary Elizabeth Braddon [epub ebook reader .TXT] 📗». Author Mary Elizabeth Braddon
reappeared, and claimed the right to remain beneath this roof.”
“And where had she passed the night?”
“Not in her own apartments. Of that I have been informed by her maid,
who believed that she had left Raynham for good.”
“Strange!” exclaimed the magistrate. “If she is guilty, why does she
remain here, where her guilt is known—where she maybe suspected of a
crime, and the most terrible of crimes?”
“Of what crime?”
“Of murder, Mr. Eversleigh. I regret to tell you that these two medical
gentlemen concur in the opinion that your uncle’s death was caused by
poison. A post-mortem examination will be made to-night.”
“Upon what evidence?”
“On the evidence of an empty glass, which is under lock and key in
yonder cabinet,” answered the doctor from Plimborough; “and at the
bottom of which I found traces of one of the most powerful poisons
known to those who are skilled in the science of toxicology: and on the
further evidence of diagnostics which I need not explain—the evidence
of the dead man’s appearance, Mr. Eversleigh. That your uncle died from
the effects of poison, there cannot be the smallest doubt. The next
question to be considered is, whether that poison was administered by
his own hand, or the hand of an assassin.”
“He may have committed suicide,” said Reginald, with some hesitation.
“It is just possible,” answered Gilbert Ashburne; “though from my
knowledge of your uncle’s character, I should imagine it most unlikely.
At any rate, his papers will reveal the state of his mind immediately
before his death. It is my suggestion, therefore, that his papers
should be examined immediately by you, as his nearest relative and
acknowledged heir—by me, as magistrate of the district, and in the
presence of Mr. Dalton, who was your uncle’s confidential solicitor.
Have you any objection to offer to this course, Mr. Eversleigh, or Sir
Reginald, as I suppose I ought now to call you?” It was the first time
Reginald Eversleigh had heard himself addressed by the title which was
now his own—that title which, borne by the possessor of a great
fortune, bestows so much dignity; but which, when held by a poor man,
is so hollow a mockery. In spite of his fears—in spite of that sense
of remorse which had come upon him since his uncle’s death—the sound
of the title was pleasant to his ears, and he stood for the moment
silent, overpowered by the selfish rapture of gratified pride.
The magistrate repeated his question.
“Have you any objection to offer, Sir Reginald?”
“None whatever, Mr. Ashburne.”
Reginald Eversleigh was only too glad to accede to the magistrate’s
proposition. He was feverishly anxious to see the will which was to
make him master of Raynham. He knew that such a will had been duly
executed. He had no reason to fear that it had been destroyed; but
still he wanted to see it—to hold it in his hands, to have
incontestable proof of its existence.
The examination of the papers was serious work. The lawyer suggested
that the first to be scrutinized should be those that he had found on
the table at which Sir Oswald had been writing.
The first of these papers which came into the magistrate’s hand was
Mary Goodwin’s letter. Reginald Eversleigh recognized the familiar
handwriting, the faded ink, and crumpled paper. He stretched out his
hand at the moment Gilbert Ashburne was about to examine the document.
“That is a letter,” he said, “a strictly private letter, which I
recognize. It is addressed to me, as you will see; and posted in Paris
nearly two years ago. I must beg you not to read it.”
“Very well, Sir Reginald, I will take your word for it. The letter has
nothing to do with the subject of our present inquiry. Certainly, a
letter, posted in Paris two years ago, can scarcely have any connection
with the state of your uncle’s mind last night.”
The magistrate little thought how very important an influence that
crumpled sheet of paper had exercised upon the events of the previous
night.
Gilbert Ashburne and the lawyer examined the rest of the packet. There
were no papers of importance; nothing throwing any light upon late
events, except Lady Eversleigh’s letter, and the will made by the
baronet immediately after his marriage.
“There is another and a later will,” said Reginald, eagerly; “a will
made last night, and witnessed by Millard and Peterson. This earlier
will ought to have been destroyed.”
“It is not of the least consequence, Sir Reginald,” replied the
solicitor. “The will of latest date is the true one, if there should be
a dozen in existence.”
“We had better search for the will made last night,” said Reginald,
anxiously.
The magistrate and the lawyer complied. They perceived the anxiety of
the expectant heir, and gave way to it. The search occupied a long
time, but no second will was found; the only will that could be
discovered was that made within a week of the baronet’s marriage.
“The will attested last night must be in this room,” exclaimed
Reginald. “I will send for Millard; and you shall hear from his lips an
exact account of what occurred.”
The young man tried in vain to conceal the feeling of alarm which had
taken possession of him. What would be his position if this will should
not be found? A beggar, steeped in crime.
He rang the bell and sent for the valet. Joseph Millard came, and
repeated his account of the previous night’s transaction. It was clear
that the will had been made. It was equally clear that if it were still
in existence, it must be found in that room, for the valet declared
that his master had not left the library after the execution of the
document.
“I was on the watch and on the listen all night, you see, gentlemen,”
said Joseph Millard; “for I was very uneasy about master, knowing what
trouble had come upon him, and how he’d never been to bed all the night
before. I thought he might call me at any minute, so I kept close at
hand. There’s a little room next to this, and I sat in there with the
door open, and though I dropped off into a doze now and then, I never
was sound enough asleep not to have heard this door open, if it did
open. But I’ll take my Bible oath that Sir Oswald never left this room
after me and Peterson witnessed the will.”
“Then the will must be somewhere in the room, and it will be our
business to find it,” answered Mr. Ashburne. “That will do, Millard;
you can go.”
The valet retired.
Reginald recommenced the search for the will, assisted by the
magistrate and the lawyer, while the two doctors stood by the fireplace, talking together in suppressed tones.
This time the search left no crevice unexamined. But all was done
without avail; and despair began to gain upon Reginald Eversleigh.
What if all the crime, the falsehood, the infamy of the past few days
had been committed for no result?
He was turning over the papers in the bureau for the third or fourth
time, with trembling hands, in the desperate hope that somehow or other
the missing will might have escaped former investigations, when he was
arrested by a sudden exclamation from Mr. Missenden, the Plimborough
surgeon.
“I don’t think you need look any farther, Sir Reginald,” said this
gentleman.
“What do you mean?” cried Reginald, eagerly.
“I believe the will is found.”
“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed the young man.
“You mistake, Sir Reginald,” said Mr. Missenden, who was kneeling by
the fireplace, looking intently at some object in the polished steel
fender; “if I am right, and that this really is the document in
question, I fear it will be of very little use to you.”
“It has been destroyed!” gasped Reginald.
“I fear so. This looks to me like the fragment of a will.”
He handed Reginald a scrap of paper, which he had found amongst a heap
of grey ashes. It was scorched to a deep yellow colour, and burnt at
the edges; but the few words written upon it were perfectly legible,
nevertheless.
These words were the following:—
“—_Nephew, Reginald Eversleigh—Raynham Castle estate—all lands and
tenements appertaining—sole use and benefit_—”
This was all. Reginald gazed at the scrap of scorched paper with wild,
dilated eyes. All hope was gone; there could be little doubt that this
morsel of paper was all that remained of Sir Oswald Eversleigh’s latest
will.
And the will made previously bequeathed Raynham to the testator’s
window, a handsome fortune to each of the two Dales, and a pittance of
five hundred a-year to Reginald.
The young man sank into a chair, stricken down by this overwhelming
blow. His white face was the very picture of despair.
“My uncle never destroyed this document,” he exclaimed; “I will not
believe it. Some treacherous hand has been thrust between me and my
rights. Why should Sir Oswald have made a will in one hour and
destroyed it in the next? What could have influenced him to alter his
mind?”
As he uttered these words, Reginald Eversleigh remembered that fatal
letter of Mary Goodwin, which had been found lying uppermost amongst
the late baronet’s papers. That letter had caused Sir Oswald to
disinherit his nephew once. Was it possible that the same letter had
influenced him a second time?
But the disappointed man did not suffer himself to dwell long on this
subject. He thought of his uncle’s widow, and the triumph that she had
won over the schemers who had plotted so basely to achieve her
destruction. A savage fury filled his soul as he thought of Honoria.
“This will has been destroyed by the one person most interested in its
destruction,” he cried. “Who can doubt now that my uncle was poisoned,
and the will destroyed by the same person?—and who can doubt that
person to be Lady Eversleigh?”
“My dear sir,” exclaimed Mr. Ashburne, “this really will not do. I
cannot listen to such accusations, unsupported by any evidence.”
“What evidence do you need, except the evidence of truth?” cried
Reginald, passionately. “Who else was interested in the destruction of
that paper?—who else was likely to desire my uncle’s death? Who but
his false and guilty wife? She had been banished from beneath this
roof; she was supposed to have left the castle; but instead of going
away, she remained in hiding, waiting her chances. If there has been a
murder committed, who can doubt that she is the murderess? Who can
question that it was she who burnt the will which robbed her of wealth
and station, and branded her with disgrace?”
“You are too impetuous, Sir Reginald,” returned the magistrate. “I will
own there are grounds for suspicion in the circumstances of which you
speak; but in such a terrible affair as this there must be no jumping
at conclusions. However, the death of your uncle by poison immediately
after the renunciation of his wife, and the burning of the will which
transferred the estates from her to you, are, when considered in
conjunction, so very mysterious—not to say suspicious—that I shall
consider myself justified in issuing a warrant for the detention of
Lady Eversleigh, upon suspicion of being concerned in the death of her
husband. I shall hold an inquiry here to-morrow, immediately after the
coroner’s inquest, and shall endeavour to sift matters most thoroughly.
If Lady Eversleigh is innocent, her temporary arrest can do her no
harm. She
Comments (0)