Elster's Folly by Mrs. Henry Wood (most important books to read TXT) 📖

The Servants Can Run Down

To Hillary's The While."

 

Dr. Ashton Rose,  Bowing For Permission To Lady Kirton; And The Gentlemen

With One Accord Rose With Him,  The Same Purpose In The Mind Of All--That

Of More Effectually Scouring The Ground Between The Mill And Hartledon.

The Countess-Dowager Felt That She Should Like To Box The Ears Of Every

One Of Them. The Idea Of Danger In Connection With Lord Hartledon Had

Not Yet Penetrated To Her Brain.

 

At This Moment,  Before They Had Left The Room,  There Arose A Strange Wild

Sound From Without--Almost An Unearthly Sound--That Seemed To Come From

Several Voices,  And To Be Bearing Round The House From The River-Path.

Mrs. O'moore Put Down Her Knife And Fork,  And Rose Up With A Startled

Cry.

 

"There's Nothing To Be Alarmed At," Said The Dowager. "It Is Those Irish

Harvesters. I Know Their Horrid Voices,  And Dare Say They Are Riotously

Drunk. Hartledon Ought To Put Them In Prison For It."

 

The Sounds Died Away Into Silence. Mrs. O'moore Took Her Hands From Her

Eyes,  Where They Had Been Pressed. "Don't You Know What It Is,  Lady

Kirton? It Is The Irish Death-Wail!"

 

It Rose Again,  Louder Than Before,  For Those From Whom It Came Were

Nearing The House--A Horribly Wailing Sound,  Ringing Out In The Silence

Of The Night. Mrs. O'moore Crouched Into Her Chair Again,  And Hid Her

Terrified Face. She Was Not Irish,  And Had Never Heard That Sound But

Once,  And That Was When Her Child Died.

 

"She Is Right," Cried Her Husband,  The O'moore; "That Is The Death-Wail.

Hark! It Is For A Chieftain; They Mourn The Loss Of One High In The Land.

And--They Are Coming Here! Oh,  Elster! Can Death Have Overtaken Your

Brother?"

 

The Gentlemen Had Stood Spell-Bound,  Listening To The Sound,  Their Faces

A Mixture Of Surprise And Credulity. At The Words They Rushed Out With

One Accord,  And The Women Stole After Them With Trembling Steps And

Blanched Lips.

 

"If Ever I Saw Such Behaviour In All My Existence!" Irascibly Spoke The

Countess-Dowager,  Who Was Left Alone In Her Glory. "The Death-Wail,

Indeed! The Woman's A Fool. I'll Get Those Irishmen Transported,  If

I Can."

 

In The Hall The Servants Were Gathered,  Cowering Almost As The Ladies

Did. Their Master Had Flown Down The Hall-Steps,  And The Labourers Were

Coming Steadily Up To It,  Bearing Something In Procession. Dr. Ashton

Came Back As Quickly As He Had Gone Out,  Extending His Arms Before Him.

 

"Ladies,  I Pray You Go In," He Urged,  In Strange Agitation. "You Must Not

Meet These--These Irishmen. Go Back To The Dining-Room,  I Entreat You,

And Remain In It."

 

But The Curiosity Of Women--Who Can Suppress It? They Were As Though They

Heard Not,  And Were Pressing On To The Door,  When Val Elster Dashed In

With A White Face.

 

"Back,  All Of You! You Must Not Stay Here. This Is No Place Or Sight For

You. Anne," He Added,  Seizing Miss Ashton's Hand In Peremptory Entreaty,

"You At Least Know How To Be Calm. Get Them Away,  And Keep Them Out Of

The Hall."

 

"Tell Me The Worst," She Implored. "I Will Indeed Try To Be Calm. Who Is

It Those Men Are Bringing Here?"

 

"My Dear Brother--My Dead Brother. Madam," He Continued To The

Countess-Dowager,  Who Had Now Come Out,  Dinner-Napkin In Hand,  Her Curls

All Awry,  "You Must Not Come Here. Go Back To The Dining-Room,  All Of

You."

 

"Not Come Here! Go Back To The Dining-Room!" Echoed The Outraged Dowager.

"Don't Take Quite So Much Upon Yourself,  Val Elster. The House Is Lord

Hartledon's,  And I Am A Free Agent In It."

 

A Shriek--An Agonized Shriek--Broke From Lady Maude. In Her Suspense She

Had Stolen Out Unperceived,  And Lifted The Covering Of The Rude Bier,  Now

Resting On The Steps. The Rays Of The Hall-Lamp Fell On The Face,  And

Maude,  In Her Anguish,  With A Succession Of Hysterical Sobs,  Came

Shivering Back To Sink Down At Her Mother's Feet.

 

"Oh,  My Love--My Love! Dead! Dead!"

 

The Only One Who Heard The Words Was Anne Ashton. The Countess-Dowager

Caught The Last.

 

"Who Is Dead? What Is This Mystery?" She Asked,  Unceremoniously Lifting

Her Satin Dress,  With The Intention Of Going Out To See,  And Her Head

Began To Nod--Perhaps With Apprehension--As If She Had The Palsy. "You

Want To Force Us Away. No,  Thank You; Not Until I've Come To The Bottom

Of This."

 

"Let Us Tell Them," Cried Young Carteret,  In His Boyish Impulse,  "And

Then Perhaps They Will Go. An Accident Has Happened To Lord Hartledon,

Ma'am,  And These Men Have Brought Him Home."

 

"He--_He's_ Not Dead?" Asked The Old Woman,  In Changed Tones.

 

Alas! Poor Lord Hartledon Was Indeed Dead. The Irish Labourers,  In

Passing Near The Mill,  Had Detected The Body In The Water; Rescued It,

And Brought It Home.

 

The Countess-Dowager's Grief Commenced Rather Turbulently. She Talked And

Shrieked,  And Danced Round,  Exactly As If She Had Been A Wild Indian. It

Was So Intensely Ludicrous,  That The Occupants Of The Hall Gazed In

Silence.

 

"Here To-Day,  And Gone To-Morrow!" She Sobbed. "Oh--O--O--O--O--O--Oh!"

 

"Nay," Cried Young Carteret,  "Here To-Day,  And Gone _Now_. Poor Fellow!

It Is Awful."

 

"And You Have Done It!" She Cried,  Turning Her Grief Upon The Astonished

Boy. "You! What Business Had You To Allure Him Off Again In That

Miserable Boat,  Once He Had Got Home?"

 

"Don't Trample Me Down,  Please," He Indignantly Returned; "I Am As Cut Up

As You Can Be. Hedges,  Hadn't You Better Get Lady Kirton's Maid Here? I

Think She Is Going Mad."

 

"And Now The House Is Without A Master," She Bemoaned,  Returning To Her

Own Griefs And Troubles,  "And I Have All The Arrangements Thrown Upon

Myself."

 

"The House Is Not Without A Master," Said Young Carteret,  Who Seemed

Inclined To Have The Last Word. "If One Master Has Gone From It,  Poor

Fellow! There's Another To Replace Him; And He Is At Your Elbow Now."

 

He At Her Elbow Was Val Elster. Lady Kirton Gathered In The Sense Of The

Words,  And Gave A Cry; A Prolonged Cry Of Absolute Dismay.

 

"_He_ Can't Be Its Master."

 

"I Should Say He _Is_,  Ma'am. At Any Rate He Is Now Lord Hartledon."

 

She Looked From One To The Other In Helpless Doubt. It Was A Contingency

That Had Never So Much As Occurred To Her. Had She Wanted Confirmation,

The Next Moment Brought It To Her From The Lips Of The Butler.

 

"Hedges," Called Out Percival Sternly,  In His Embarrassment And Grief,

"Open The Dining-Room Door. We _Must_ Get The Hall Cleared."

 

"The Door Is Open,  My Lord."

 

"_He_ Lord Hartledon!" Shrieked The Countess-Dowager,  "Why,  I Was Going

To Recommend His Brother To Ship Him Off To Canada For Life."

 

It Was Altogether An Unseemly Scene At Such A Time. But Almost Everything

The Countess-Dowager Of Kirton Did Was Unseemly.

Chapter 10 (Mr. Pike's Visit)

Percival Elster Was In Truth Earl Of Hartledon. By One Of Those

Unexpected Calamities,  Which Are Often Inexplicable--And Which Most

Certainly Was So As Yet In The Present Instance--A Promising Young Life

Had Been Snapped Asunder,  And Another Reigned In His Place. In One Short

Hour Val Elster,  Who Had Scarcely Cross Or Coin To Call His Own,  Had Been

Going In Danger Of Arrest From One Moment To Another,  Had Become A Peer

Of The Realm And A Man Of Wealth.

 

As They Laid The Body Down In A Small Room Opening From The Hall,  And His

Late Companions And Guests Crowded Around In Awe-Struck Silence,  There

Was One Amidst Them Who Could Not Control His Grief And Emotion. It Was

Poor Val. Pushing Aside The Others,  Never Heeding Them In His Bitter

Sorrow,  He Burst Into Passionate Sobs As He Leaned Over The Corpse. And

None Of Them Thought The Worse Of Val For It.

 

"Oh,  Percival! How Did It Happen?"

 

The Speaker Was Dr. Ashton. Little Less Affected Himself,  He Clasped The

Young Man's Hand In Token Of Heartfelt Sympathy.

 

"I Cannot Think _How_ It Could Have Happened," Replied Percival,  When

Able To Control His Feelings Sufficiently To Speak. "It Seems Awfully

Strange To Me--Mysteriously So."

 

"If He Found Himself Going Wrong,  Why Didn't He Shout Out?" Asked Young

Carteret,  With A Rueful Face. "I Couldn't Have Helped Hearing Him."

 

It Was A Question That Was Passing Through The Minds Of All; Was Being

Whispered About. How Could It Have Happened? The Body Presented The Usual

Appearance Of Death From Drowning; But Close To The Left Temple Was A

Wound,  And The Face Was Otherwise Disfigured. It Must Have Been Done,

They Thought,  By Coming Into Contact With Something Or Other In The

Water; Perhaps The Skiff Itself. Arm And Ankle Were Both Much Swollen.

 

Nothing Was Certainly Known As Yet Of Lord Hartledon From The Time Mr.

Carteret Parted Company With Him,  To The Time When The Body Was Found. It

Appeared That These Irish Labourers Were Going Home From Their Work,

Singing As They Went,  Their Road Lying Past The Mill,  When They Were

Spoken To By The Miller's Boy. He Stood On The Species Of Estrade Which

The Miller Had Placed There For His Own Convenience,  Bending Down As Far

As His Young Head And Shoulders Could Reach,  And Peering Into The Water

Attentively. "I Think I See Some'at In The Stream," Quoth He,  And The Men

Stopped; And After A Short Time,  Proceeded To Search. It Proved To Be The

Dead Body Of Lord Hartledon,  Caught Amongst The Reeds.

 

It Was Rather A Curious Coincidence That Percival Elster And His Servants

In The Last Search Should Have Heard The Voices Of The Labourers Singing

In The Distance. But They Were Too Far Off On Their Return To Hartledon

To Be Within Hearing When The Men Found The Body.

 

The News Spread; People Came Up From Far And Near,  And Hartledon Was

Besieged. Mr. Hillary,  The Surgeon,  Gave It As His Opinion That The Wound

On The Temple,  No Doubt Caused Before Death,  Had Rendered Lord Hartledon

Insensible,  And Unable To Extricate Himself From The Water. The Mill And

Cottage Were Built On What Might Be Called An Arm Of The River. Lord

Hartledon Had No Business There At All; But The Current Was Very Strong;

And If,  As Was Too Probable,  He Had Become Almost Disabled,  He Might Have

Drifted To It Without Being Able To Help Himself; Or He Might Have Been

Making For It,  Intending To Land And Rest In The Cottage Until Help Could

Be Summoned To Convey Him Home. How He Got Into The Water Was Not Known.

Once In The Water,  The Blow Was Easy Enough To Receive; He Might Have

Struck Against The Estrade.

 

There Is Almost Sure To Be Some Miserable Coincidence In These Cases To

Render Them Doubly Unfortunate. For Three Weeks Past,  As The Miller

Testified--A Respectable Man Named Floyd--His Mill Had Not Been Deserted;

Some One,  Man,  Boy,  Or Woman,  Had Always Been There. On This Afternoon It

Was Closed,  Mill And Cottage Too,  And All Were Away. What Might Have Been

Simply A Slight Accident,  Had Help Been At Hand,  Had Terminated In An

Awful Death For The Want Of It.

 

It Was Eleven O'clock Before Anything Like Order Was Restored At

Hartledon,  And The House Left In Quiet. The Last Person To Quit It Was

Dr. Ashton. Hedges,  The Butler,  Had Been Showing Him Out,  And Was

Standing For A Minute On The Steps Looking After Him,  And Perhaps To

Cool,  With A Little Fresh Air,  His Perplexed Brow--For The Man Was A

Faithful Retainer,  And The Affair Had Shocked Him In No Common

Degree--When He Was Accosted By Pike,  Who Emerged Stealthily From Behind

One Of The Outer Pillars,  Where He El.

 

"Emma,  Where's The Water-Can?"

 

"Please 'M,  Mrs. Plumberridge,  She Left It Outside Of The Door

Yesterday,  And Some One's Took It."

 

There Is Yet A Later Widow,  But I Do _Not_ Think Of Taking Her Into

The House. The Widow Bone Has Taken To _Boning_ Her Daughter's

Clothes,  So _She_ Is Forbidden The House....

 

 

 

 

To A.E.

 

_Brighton_. April 17,  1872.

 

 

 

 

... I Got Here All Right,  And Wonderfully Little Tired,  Though The

Train Shook A Good Deal The Latter Part Of The Way.

 

Oh! The Flowers! The Cowslips,  The Purple Orchids,  The Kingcups,