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
to lose patience, when I sat down in a fancy-stationer’s shop to rest
myself. I sat down in this shop because I was really tired, not with
any hope of making use of my time, for I was too far away from Hilton
House to expect any luck in the way of information from the gentleman
behind the counter. However, when a man has devoted his life to
ferreting out information, the habit of ferreting is apt to be very
strong upon him; so I pass the time of day to my fancy-stationer, and
then begins to ferret. ‘Madame Durski, at Hilton House yonder, is an
uncommonly handsome woman,’ I throw out, by way of an opening.
‘Uncommonly,’ replies my fancy-stationer, by which I perceive he knows
her. ‘A customer of yours, perhaps?’ I throw out, promiscuous. ‘Yes,’
answers my fancy-stationer. ‘A good one, too, I’ll be bound,’ I throw
out, in a lively, conversational way. My fancy-stationer smiles, and
being accustomed to study smiles, I see significance in his smile. ‘A
very good one in some things,’ replies my fancy-stationer, laying a
tremendous stress upon the word some. ‘Oh,’ says I, ‘gilt-edged note-paper and cream-coloured sealing-wax, for instance.’ ‘I don’t sell her
a quire of paper in a month,’ answers my stationer. ‘If she was as fond
of writing letters as she is of playing cards, I think it would be
better for her.’ ‘Oh, she’s fond of card-playing is she?’ I ask. ‘Yes,’
replies my fancy-stationer, ‘I rather think she is. Your hair would
stand on end if I were to tell you how many packs of playing-cards I’ve
sold her lady-companion within the last three months. The lady-companion comes here at dusk with a thick black veil over her face, and
she thinks I don’t know who she is; but I do know her, and know where
she lives, and whom she lives with.’ After this I buy myself a quire of
writing-paper, which I don’t want, and I wish my fancy-stationer good
afternoon. ‘Oh, oh,’ I say to myself when I get outside, ‘I know the
meaning of Madame Durski’s parties now. Madame Durski’s house is a
flash gambling crib, and all those fine gentlemen in cabs and broughams
go there to play cards.’”
“The mistress of a gaming-house!” exclaimed Honoria. “A fitting
companion for Reginald Eversleigh!”
“Just so, ma’am; and a fitting companion for Mr. Victor Carrington
likewise.”
“Have you found out anything about him?” cried Lady Eversleigh,
eagerly.
“No, ma’am, I haven’t. At least, nothing in my way. I’ve tried his
neighbours, and his tradespeople also, in the character of a postman,
which is respectable, and calculated to inspire confidence. But out of
his tradespeople I can get nothing more than the fact that he is a
remarkably praiseworthy young man, who pays his debts regular, and is
the very best of sons to a highly-respectable mother. There’s nothing
much in that, you know, ma’am.”
“Hypocrite!” murmured Lady Eversleigh. “A hypocrite so skilled in the
vile arts of hypocrisy that he will contrive to have the world always
on his side. And this is all your utmost address has been able to
achieve?”
“All at present, ma’am; but I live in hopes. And now I’ve got a bit of
news about the baronet, which I think will astonish you. I’ve been
improving my acquaintance with the young person employed as housemaid
in Villiers Street for the last fortnight, and I find from her that my
baronet is on very friendly terms with his first cousin, Mr. Dale, of
the Temple.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Honoria. “These two men are the last between whom I
should have imagined a friendship impossible.”
“Yes, ma’am; but so it is, notwithstanding. Mr. Douglas Dale,
barrister-at-law, dined with his cousin, Sir Reginald, twice last week;
and on each occasion the two gentlemen left Villiers Street together in
a hack cab, between eight and nine o’clock. My friend, the housemaid,
happened to hear the address given to the cabmen on both occasions; and
on both occasions the address was Hilton House, Fulham.”
“Douglas Dale a gambler!” cried Honoria; “the companion of his infamous
cousin! That is indeed ruin.”
“Well, certainly, ma’am, it does not seem a very lively prospect for my
friend, D. D.,” answered Mr. Larkspur, with irrepressible flippancy.
“Do you know any more respecting this acquaintance?” asked Honoria.
“Not yet, ma’am; but I mean to know more.”
“Watch then,” she cried; “watch those two men. There is danger for Mr.
Dale in any association with his cousin, Sir Reginald Eversleigh. Do
not forget that. There is peril for him—the deadliest it may be.
Watch them, Mr. Larkspur; watch them by day and night.”
“I’ll do my duty, ma’am, depend upon it,” replied the police officer;
“and I’ll do it well. I take a pride in my profession, and to me duty
is a pleasure.”
“I will trust you.”
“You may, ma’am. Oh, by-the-bye, I must tell you that in this house my
name is Andrews. Please remember that, ma’am.”
“Mr. Andrews, lawyer’s clerk. The name of Larkspur smells too strong of
Bow Street.”
*
The information acquired by Andrew Larkspur was perfectly correct. An
intimacy and companionship had arisen between Douglas Dale and his
cousin, Reginald Eversleigh, and the two men spent much of their time
together.
Douglas Dale was still the same simple-minded, true-hearted young man
that he had been before his uncle Oswald’s death endowed him with an
income of five thousand a year; but with the accession of wealth the
necessity for industry ceased; and instead of a hard-working student,
Douglas became one of the upper million, who have nothing to think of
but the humour of the moment—now Alpine tourist, now Norwegian angler;
anon idler in clubs and drawing-rooms; anon book collector, or amateur
litterateur.
He still occupied chambers in the Temple; he still called himself a
barrister; but he had no longer any desire to succeed at the bar.
His brother Lionel had become rector of Hallgrove, a village in
Dorsetshire, where there was a very fine old church and a very small
congregation. It was one of those fat livings which seem only to fall
to the lot of rich men.
Lionel had the tastes of a typical country gentleman, and he found
ample leisure to indulge in his favourite amusement of hunting, after
having conscientiously discharged his duties.
The poor of Hallgrove had good reason to congratulate themselves on the
fact that their rector was a rich man. Mr. Dale’s charities seemed
almost boundless to his happy parishioners.
The rectory was a fine old house, situated in one of those romantic
spots which one scarcely hopes to see out of a picture. Hill, wood, and
water combined to make the beauty of the landscape; and amid verdant
woods and fields the old red-brick mansion looked the perfection of an
English homestead. It had been originally a manor-house, and some
portions of it were very old.
Douglas Dale called Hallgrove the Happy Valley. Neither of the brothers
had yet married, and the barrister paid frequent visits to the rector.
He was glad to find repose after the fatigue and excitement of London
life. Like his brother, he delighted in the adventures and perils of
the hunting field, and he was rarely absent from Hallgrove during the
hunting season.
In London he had his clubs, and the houses of friends. The manoeuvring
mammas of the West End were very glad to welcome Mr. Dale at their
parties. He might have danced with the prettiest girls in London every
night of his life had he pleased.
To an unmarried man, with unlimited means and no particular occupation,
the pleasures of a life of fashionable amusement are apt to grow
“weary, flat, stale, and unprofitable,” after a certain time. Douglas
Dale was beginning to be very tired of balls and dinner parties,
flower-shows and morning concerts, when he happened to meet his cousin,
Reginald Eversleigh, at a club to which both men belonged.
Eversleigh could make himself very agreeable when he chose; and on this
occasion he exerted himself to the utmost to produce a good impression
upon the mind of Douglas Dale. Hitherto Douglas had not liked his
cousin, Reginald; but he now began to fancy that he had been prejudiced
against his kinsman. He felt that Reginald had some reason to consider
himself ill-used; and with the impulsive kindness of a generous nature,
he was ready to extend the hand of friendship to a man who had been
beaten in the battle of life.
The two men dined together at their club; they met again and again;
sometimes by accident—sometimes by appointment. The club was one at
which there was a good deal of quiet gambling amongst scientific whist-players; but until his meeting with Reginald Eversleigh, Douglas Dale
had never been tempted to take part in a rubber.
His habits changed gradually under the influence of his cousin and
Victor Carrington. He consented to take a hand at �cart� after dinner
on one day; on another day to join at a whist-party. Three months after
his first meeting with Reginald, he accompanied the baronet to Hilton
House, where he was introduced to the beautiful Austrian widow.
Sir Reginald Eversleigh played his cards very cautiously. It was only
after he had instilled a taste for gambling into his kinsman’s breast
that he ventured to introduce him to the fashionable gaming-house
presided over by Paulina Durski.
The introduction had a sinister effect upon his destiny. He had passed
unscathed through the furnace of London life; many women had sought to
obtain power over him; but his heart was still in his own keeping when
he first crossed the threshold of Hilton House.
He saw Paulina Durski, and loved her. He loved her from the very first
with a deep and faithful affection, as far above the selfish fancy of
Reginald Eversleigh as the heaven is above the earth.
But she was no longer mistress of her heart. That was given to the man
whose baseness she knew, and whom she loved despite her better reason.
Sir Reginald speedily discovered the state of his cousin’s feelings. He
had laid his plans for this result. Douglas Dale, as the adoring slave
of Madame Durski, would be an easy dupe, and much of Sir Oswald’s
wealth might yet enrich his disinherited nephew. Victor Carrington
looked on, and shared his spoils; but he watched Eversleigh’s schemes
with a half-contemptuous air.
“You think you are doing wonders, my dear Reginald,” he said; “and
certainly, by means of Mr. Dale’s losses, you and I contrive to live—
to say nothing of our dear Madame Durski, who comes in for her share of
the plunder. But after all, what is it? a few hundreds more or less, at
the best. I think you may by-and-by play a better and a deeper game
than that, Reginald, and I think I can show you how to play it.”
“I do not want to be mixed up in any more of your schemes,” answered
Sir Reginald, “I have had enough of them. What have they done for me?”
The two men were seated in Sir Reginald’s dingy sitting-room in
Villiers Street when this conversation took place.
They were sitting opposite to each other, with a little table between
them. Victor Carrington rested his folded arms upon the table, and
leaned across them, looking full in the face of his companion.
“Look you, Reginald Eversleigh,” he said, “because I have failed once,
there is no reason that I am to fail always. The devil himself
Comments (0)