Elster's Folly by Mrs. Henry Wood (most important books to read TXT) 📖
- Author: Mrs. Henry Wood
Book online «Elster's Folly by Mrs. Henry Wood (most important books to read TXT) 📖». Author Mrs. Henry Wood
"I Shall Be Only Too Thankful To Do It. All My Courage Has Come Back To
Me, Thank Heaven!"
The Countess-Dowager Of Kirton's Reign Was Indeed Over; Never Would He
Allow Her To Disturb The Peace Of His House Again. He Might Have To
Pension Her Off, But That Was A Light Matter. His Intention Was To Speak
To Her In A Few Days' Time, Allowing An Interval To Elapse After The
Boy's Death; But She Forestalled The Time Herself, As Val Was Soon To
Find.
Dinner That Evening Was A Sad Meal--Sad And Silent. The Only One Who Did
Justice To It Was The Countess-Dowager--In A Black Gauze Dress And White
Crepe Turban. Let What Would Betide, Lady Kirton Never Failed To Enjoy
Her Dinner. She Had A Scheme In Her Head; It Had Been Working There Since
The Day Of Her Grandson's Death; And When The Servants Withdrew, She
Judged It Expedient To Disclose It To Hartledon, Hoping To Gain Her
Point, Now That He Was Softened By Sorrow.
"Hartledon, I Want To Talk To You," She Began, Critically Tasting Her
Wine; "And I Must Request That You'll Attend To Me."
Anne Looked Up, Wondering What Was Coming. She Wore An Evening Dress Of
Black Crepe, A Jet Necklace On Her Fair Neck, Jet Bracelets On Her Arms:
Mourning Far Deeper Than The Dowager's.
"Are You Listening To Me, Val?"
"I Am Quite Ready," Answered Val.
"I Asked You, Once Before, To Let Me Have Maude's Children, And To Allow
Me A Fair Income With Them. Had You Done So, This Dreadful Misfortune
Would Not Have Overtaken Your House: For It Stands To Reason That If Lord
Elster Had Been Living Somewhere Else With Me, He Could Not Have Caught
Scarlet-Fever In London."
"We Never Thought He Did Catch It," Returned Hartledon. "It Was Not
Prevalent At The Time; And, Strange To Say, None Of The Other Children
Took It, Nor Any One Else In The House."
"Then What Gave It Him?" Sharply Uttered The Dowager.
What Val Answered Was Spoken In A Low Tone, And She Caught One Word Only,
Providence. She Gave A Growl, And Continued.
"At Any Rate, He's Gone; And You Have Now No Pretext For Refusing Me
Maude. I Shall Take Her, And Bring Her Up, And You Must Make Me A Liberal
Allowance For Her."
"I Shall Not Part With Maude," Said Val, In Quiet Tones Of Decision.
"You Can't Refuse Her To Me, I Say," Rejoined The Dowager, Nodding Her
Head Defiantly; "She's My Own Grandchild."
"And My Child. The Argument On This Point Years Ago Was Unsatisfactory,
Lady Kirton; I Do Not Feel Disposed To Renew It. Maude Will Remain In Her
Own Home."
"You Are A Vile Man!" Cried The Dowager, With An Inflamed Face. "Pass Me
The Wine."
He Filled Her Glass, And Left The Decanter With Her. She Resumed.
"One Day, When I Was With Maude, In That Last Illness Of Hers In London,
When We Couldn't Find Out What Was The Matter With Her, Poor Dear, She
Wrote You A Letter; And I Know What Was In It, For I Read It. You Had
Gone Dancing Off Somewhere For A Week."
"To The Isle Of Wight, On Your Account," Put In Lord Hartledon, Quietly;
"On That Unhappy Business Connected With Your Son Who Lives There. Well,
Ma'am?"
"In That Letter Maude Said She Wished Me To Have Charge Of Her Children,
If She Died; And Begged You To Take Notice That She Said It," Continued
The Dowager. "Perhaps You'll Say You Never Had That Letter?"
"On The Contrary, Madam, I Admit Receiving It," He Replied. "I Daresay I
Have It Still. Most Of Maude's Letters Lie In My Desk Undisturbed."
"And, Admitting That, You Refuse To Act Up To It?"
"Maude Wrote In A Moment Of Pique, When She Was Angry With Me. But--"
"And I Have No Doubt She Had Good Cause For Anger!"
"She Had Great Cause," Was His Answer, Spoken With A Strange Sadness That
Surprised Both The Dowager And Lady Hartledon. Thomas Carr Was Twirling
His Wine-Glass Gently Round On The White Cloth, Neither Speaking Nor
Looe Had Never
Heard Of. She Had Lain Awake Hours At Night And Stared With Wide-Open
Eyes At The Darkness, Picturing To Her Inner Soul The Dream Of Splendour
That She Would Be Part Of, The Solace For Past Miseries, The High
Revenges For Past Slights That Would Be Hers After The Hour In Which She
Heard The Words Osborn Had Just Quoted, "Walderhurst Died Last Night!"
Oh! If Luck Had Only Helped Them! If The Spells Her Ayah Had Taught Her
In Secret Had Only Worked As They Would Have Worked If She Had Been A
Native Woman And Had Really Used Them Properly! There Was A Spell She
Had Wrought Once Which Ameerah Had Sworn To Her Was To Be Relied On. It
Took Ten Weeks To Accomplish Its End. In Secret She Had Known Of A Man
On Whom It Had Been Worked. She Had Found Out About It Partly From The
Remote Hints Which Had Aided Her Half Knowledge Of Strange Things And By
Keeping A Close Watch. The Man Had Died--He Had Died. She Herself, And
With Her Own Eyes Had Seen Him Begin To Ail, Had Heard Of His Fevers And
Pains And Final Death. He Had Died. She Knew That. And She Had Tried The
Thing Herself In Dead Secrecy. And At The Fifth Week, Just As With The
Native Who Had Died, She Heard That Walderhurst Was Ill. During The Next
Four Weeks She Was Sick With The Tension Of Combined Horror And Delight.
But He Did Not Die In The Tenth Week. They Heard That He Had Gone To
Tangiers With A Party Of Notable People, And That His "Slight"
Indisposition Had Passed, Leaving Him In Admirable Health And Spirits.
Her Husband Had Known Nothing Of Her Frenzy. She Would Not Have Dared To
Tell Him. There Were Many Things She Did Not Tell Him. He Used To Laugh
At Her Native Stories Of Occult Powers, Though She Knew That He Had Seen
Some Strange Things Done, As Most Foreigners Had. He Always Explained
Such Things Contemptuously On Grounds Which Presupposed In The
Performers Of The Mysteries Powers Of Agility, Dexterity, And Universal
Knowledge Quite As Marvellous As Anything Occult Could Have Been. He Did
Not Like Her To Show Belief In The "Tricks Of The Natives," As He Called
Them. It Made A Woman Look A Fool, He Said, To Be So Credulous.
During The Last Few Months A New Fever Had Tormented Her. Feelings Had
Awakened In Her Which Were New. She Thought Things She Had Never Thought
Before. She Had Never Cared For Children Or Suspected Herself Of Being
The Maternal Woman. But Nature Worked In Her After Her Weird Fashion.
She Began To Care Less For Some Things And More For Others. She Cared
Less For Osborn's Moods And Was Better Able To Defy Them. He Began To Be
Afraid Of Her Temper, And She Began To Like At Times To Defy His. There
Had Been Some Fierce Scenes Between Them In Which He Had Found Her Meet
With A Flare Of Fury Words She Would Once Have Been Cowed By. He Had
Spoken One Day With The Coarse Slightingness Of A Selfish, Irritable
Brute, Of The Domestic Event Which Was Before Them. He Did Not Speak
Twice.
She Sprang Up Before Him And Shook Her Clenched Fist In His Face, So
Near That He Started Back.
"Don't Say A Word!" She Cried. "Don't Dare--Don't Dare. I Tell You--Look
Out, If You Don't Want To Be Killed."
During The Outpouring Of Her Frenzy He Saw Her In An Entirely New Light
And Made Discoveries. She Would Fight For Her Young, As A Tigress Fights
For Hers. She Was Nursing A Passion Of Secret Feeling Of Which He Had
Known Nothing. He Had Not For A Moment Suspected Her Of It. She Had Not
Seemed That Kind Of Girl. She Had Been Of The Kind That Cares For Finery
And Social Importance And The World's Favour, Not For Sentiments.
On This Morning Of The Letter's Arrival He Watched Her Sobbing And
Clutching The Tablecloth, And Reflected. He Walked Up And Down And
Pondered. There Were A Lot Of Things To Be Thought Over.
"We May As Well Accept The Invitation At Once," He Said. "Grovel As Much
As You Choose. The More The Better. They'll Like It."
Chapter 38
The Osborns Arrived At The Kennel Farm On A Lovely Rainy Morning. The
Green Of The Fields And Trees And Hedges Were Many Tempting Odds And Ends Of Things To
Dip Into. For One Thing, She Found Val's Banking Book, And Some Old
Cheque-Books; They Served Her For Some Time. Next She Came Upon Two
Packets Sealed Up In White Paper, With Val's Own Seal. On One Was
Written, "Letters Of Lady Maude;" On The Other, "Letters Of My Dear
Anne." Peering Further Into The Desk, She Came Upon An Obscure Inner
Slide, Which Had Evidently Not Been Opened For Years, And She Had
Difficulty In Undoing It. A Paper Was In It, Superscribed, "Concerning
A.W.;" On Opening Which She Found A Letter Addressed To Thomas Carr, Of
The Temple.
Thomas Carr's Letters Were No More Sacred With Her Than Lord Hartledon's.
No Woman Living Was Troubled With Scruples So Little As She. It Proved To
Have Been Written By A Dr. Mair, In Scotland, And Was Dated Several Years
Back.
But Now--Did Lord Hartledon Really Know He Had That Dangerous Letter By
Him? If So, What Could Have Possessed Him To Preserve It? Or, Did He Not
Rather Believe He Had Returned It To Mr. Carr At The Time? The Latter,
Indeed, Proved To Be The Case; And Never, To The End Of His Life, Would
He, In One Sense, Forgive His Own Carelessness.
Who Was A.W.? Thought The Curious Old Woman, As She Drew The Light Nearer
To Her, And Began The Tempting Perusal, Making The Most Of The Little
Time Left. They Could Not Be At Tea Yet, And She Had Told Lady Hartledon
She Was Going To Take Her Nap In Her Own Room. The Gratification Of
Rummaging False Val's Desk Was An Ample Compensation; And The
Countess-Dowager Hugged Herself With Delight.
But What Was This She Had Come Upon--This Paper "Concerning A. W."? The
Dowager's Mouth Fell As She Read; And Gradually Her Little Eyes Opened As
If They Would Start From Their Sockets, And Her Face Grew White. Have You
Ever Watched The Livid Pallor Of Fear Struggling To One Of These Painted
Faces? She Dashed Off Her Spectacles; She Got Up And Wrung Her Hands;
She Executed A Frantic War-Dance; And Finally She Tore, With The Letter,
Into The Drawing-Room, Where Val And Anne And Thomas Carr Were Beginning
Tea And Talking Quietly.
They Rose In Consternation As She Danced In Amongst Them, And Held Out
The Letter To Lord Hartledon.
He Took It From Her, Gazing In Utter Bewilderment As He Gathered In Its
Contents. Was It A Fresh Letter, Or--His Face Became Whiter Than The
Dowager's. In Her Reckless Passion She Avowed What She Had Done--The
Letter Was Secreted In His Desk.
"Have You Dared To Visit My Desk?" He Gasped--"Break My Seals? Are You
Mad?"
"Hark At Him!" She Cried. "He Calls Me To Account For Just Lifting The
Lid Of A Desk! But What Is He? A Villain--A Thief--A Spy--A Murderer--And
Worse Than Any Of Them! Ah, Ha, My Lady!" Nodding Her False Front At
Lady Hartledon, Who Stood As One Petrified, "You Stare There At Me With
Your Open Eyes; But You Don't Know What You Are! Ask _Him_! What Was
Maude--Heaven Help Her--My Poor Maude? What Was She? And _You_ In The
Plot; You Vile Carr! I'll Have You All Hanged Together!"
Lord Hartledon Caught His Wife's Hand.
"Carr, Stay Here With Her And Tell Her All. No Good Concealing Anything
Now She Has Read This Letter. Tell Her For Me, For She Would Never Listen
To Me."
He Drew His Wife Into An Adjoining Room, The One Where The Portrait Of
George Elster Looked Down On Its Guests. The Time For
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