Lady Audley’s Secret, M. E. Braddon [good books to read for young adults TXT] 📗

the side-tables, and placed them before Mr. Audley.

Robert dipped a pen in the ink, and stared thoughtfully at one of the candles for a few moments before he began to write.

The message ran thus:

“From Robert Audley, of Audley Court, Essex, to Francis Wilmington, of Paper-buildings, Temple.

“Dear Wilmington⁠—If you know any physician experienced in cases of mania, and to be trusted with a secret, be so good as to send me his address by telegraph.”

Mr. Audley sealed this document in a stout envelope, and handed it to the man, with a sovereign.

“You will see that this is given to a trustworthy person, Richards,” he said, “and let the man wait at the station for the return message. He ought to get it in an hour and a half.”

Mr. Richards, who had known Robert Audley in jackets and turndown collars, departed to execute his commission. Heaven forbid that we should follow him into the comfortable servants’ hall at the Court, where the household sat round the blazing fire, discussing in utter bewilderment the events of the day.

Nothing could be wider from the truth than the speculations of these worthy people. What clue had they to the mystery of that firelit room in which a guilty woman had knelt at their master’s feet to tell the story of her sinful life? They only knew that which Sir Michael’s valet had told them of this sudden journey. How his master was as pale as a sheet, and spoke in a strange voice that didn’t sound like his own, somehow, and how you might have knocked him⁠—Mr. Parsons, the valet⁠—down with a feather, if you had been minded to prostrate him by the aid of so feeble a weapon.

The wiseheads of the servants’ hall decided that Sir Michael had received sudden intelligence through Mr. Robert⁠—they were wise enough to connect the young man with the catastrophe⁠—either of the death of some near and dear relation⁠—the elder servants decimated the Audley family in their endeavors to find a likely relation⁠—or of some alarming fall in the funds, or of the failure of some speculation or bank in which the greater part of the baronet’s money was invested. The general leaning was toward the failure of a bank, and every member of the assembly seemed to take a dismal and raven-like delight in the fancy, though such a supposition involved their own ruin in the general destruction of that liberal household.

Robert sat by the dreary hearth, which seemed dreary even now when the blaze of a great wood-fire roared in the wide chimney, and listened to the low wail of the March wind moaning round the house and lifting the shivering ivy from the walls it sheltered. He was tired and worn out, for remember that he had been awakened from his sleep at two o’clock that morning by the hot breath of blazing timber and the sharp crackling of burning woodwork. But for his presence of mind and cool decision, Mr. Luke Marks would have died a dreadful death. He still bore the traces of the night’s peril, for the dark hair had been singed upon one side of his forehead, and his left hand was red and inflamed, from the effect of the scorching atmosphere out of which he had dragged the landlord of the Castle Inn. He was thoroughly exhausted with fatigue and excitement, and he fell into a heavy sleep in his easy-chair before the bright fire, from which he was only awakened by the entrance of Mr. Richards with the return message.

This return message was very brief.

“Dear Audley⁠—Always glad to oblige. Alwyn Mosgrave, M.D., 12 Saville Row. Safe.”

This with names and addresses, was all that it contained.

“I shall want another message taken to Brentwood tomorrow morning, Richards,” said Mr. Audley, as he folded the telegram. “I should be glad if the man would ride over with it before breakfast. He shall have half a sovereign for his trouble.”

Mr. Richards bowed.

“Thank you, sir⁠—not necessary, sir; but as you please, of course, sir,” he murmured. “At what hour might you wish the man to go?”

Mr. Audley might wish the man to go as early as he could, so it was decided that he should go at six.

“My room is ready, I suppose, Richards?” said Robert.

“Yes, sir⁠—your old room.”

“Very good. I shall go to bed at once. Bring me a glass of brandy and water as hot as you can make it, and wait for the telegram.”

This second message was only a very earnest request to Doctor Mosgrave to pay an immediate visit to Audley Court on a matter of serious moment.

Having written this message, Mr. Audley felt that he had done all that he could do. He drank his brandy and water. He had actual need of the diluted alcohol, for he had been chilled to the bone by his adventures during the fire. He slowly sipped the pale golden liquid and thought of Clara Talboys, of that earnest girl whose brother’s memory was now avenged, whose brother’s destroyer was humiliated in the dust. Had she heard of the fire at the Castle Inn? How could she have done otherwise than hear of it in such a place as Mount Stanning? But had she heard that he had been in danger, and that he had distinguished himself by the rescue of a drunken boor? I fear that, even sitting by that desolate hearth, and beneath the roof whose noble was an exile from his own house, Robert Audley was weak enough to think of these things⁠—weak enough to let his fancy wander away to the dismal fir-trees under the cold March sky, and the dark-brown eyes that were so like the eyes of his lost friend.

XXXVI Dr. Mosgrave’s Advice

My lady slept. Through that long winter night she slept soundly. Criminals have often so slept their last sleep upon earth; and have been found in the gray morning slumbering peacefully, by the jailer who came to wake them.

The game had been played and lost.