Run to Earth by M. E. Braddon

M >> M. E. Braddon >> Run to Earth

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"No," replied Paulina. "Sir Reginald told me it was to be a bachelors'
party."

Victor saw that this petty deception on the part of her lover stung
Paulina keenly.

She had been deeply wounded by Reginald's cold and selfish policy; but
until this moment she had never felt the pangs of jealousy.

"So he was flirting with one of your fashionable English coquettes,
while I was lonely and friendless in a strange country," she exclaimed.
And then, after a brief pause, she added, passionately, "You are right,
Mr. Carrington; your friend is unworthy of one thought from me, and I
will think of him no more."

"You will do wisely, and you will receive the proof of what I say ere
long from the lips of Reginald Eversleigh himself. Tell me the truth
dear madame, are not your pecuniary difficulties becoming daily more
pressing?"

"They have become so pressing," answered Paulina, "that, unless
Reginald lends me money almost immediately, I shall be compelled to fly
from this country in secret, like a felon, leaving all my poor
possessions behind me. Already I have parted with my plate, as you no
doubt have perceived. My only hope is in Reginald."

"A broken reed on which to rely, madame. Sir Reginald Eversleigh will
not lend you money. Since this house has become a place of evil odour,
to be avoided by men who have money to lose, you are no longer of any
use to Sir Reginald. He will not lend you money. On the contrary he
will urge your immediate flight from England; and when you have gone--"

"What then?"

"There will be an obstacle removed from his pathway; and when the
chance of a rich marriage arises, he will be free to grasp it."

"Oh, what utter baseness!" murmured Paulina; "what unspeakable infamy!"

"A selfish man can be very base, very infamous," replied Victor. "But
do not let us speak further of this subject, dear Madame Durski. I have
spoken with cruel truth; but my work has been that of the surgeon, who
uses his knife freely in order to cut away the morbid spot which is
poisoning the very life-blood of the sufferer. I have shown you the
disease, the fatal passion, the wasted devotion, to which you are
sacrificing your life; my next duty is to show you where your cure
lies."

"You may be a very clever surgeon," replied Paulina, scornfully; "but
in this case your skill is unavailing. For me there is no remedy."

"Nay, madame, that is the despairing cry of a romantic girl, and is
unworthy the lips of an accomplished woman of the world. You complained
just now of your loneliness. You said that it was very sad to be
without a friend. How if I can show you that you possess one attached
and devoted friend, who would be as willing to sacrifice himself for
your interests as you have been willing to devote yourself to Reginald
Eversleigh?"

"Who is that friend?"

"Douglas Dale."

"Douglas Dale!" exclaimed Paulina. "Yes, I know, that Mr. Dale admires
me, and that he is a good and honourable man; but can I take advantage
of his admiration? Can I trade upon his love? I--who have no heart to
give, no affection to offer in return for the honest devotion of a good
man? Do not ask me to stoop to such baseness--such degradation."

"I ask nothing from you but common sense," answered Victor impatiently.
"Instead of wasting your love upon Reginald Eversleigh, who is not
worthy a moment's consideration from you, give at least your esteem and
respect to the honourable and unselfish man who truly loves you.
Instead of flying from England, a ruined woman, branded with the name
of cheat and swindler, remain as the affianced wife of Douglas Dale--
remain to prove to Reginald Eversleigh that there are those in the
world who know how to value the woman he has despised."

"Yes, he has despised me," murmured Paulina, speaking to herself rather
than to her companion; "he has despised me. He left me alone in this
dreary house; in the Christmas festival time, when friends and lovers
draw nearer together all the world over, united by the sweet influences
of the season; he left me to sit alone by this desolate hearth, while
he made merry with his friends--while he sunned himself in the smiles
of happier women. What truth can he claim from me--he who has been
falsehood itself?"

She remained silent for some minutes after this, with her eyes fixed on
the fire, her thoughts far away. Victor did not arouse her from that
reverie. He knew that the work he had to do was progressing rapidly.

He felt that he was moulding this proud and passionate woman to his
will, as the sculptor moulds the clay which is to take the form of his
statue.

At last she spoke.

"I thank you for your good advice, Mr. Carrington," she said, calmly;
"and I will avail myself of your worldly wisdom. What would you have me
do?"

"I would have you tell Douglas Dale, when he returns to town and comes
to see you, the position in which you find yourself with regard to
money matters, and ask the loan of a few hundreds. The truth and depth
of his love for you will be proved by his response to this appeal."

"How came you to suspect his love for me?" asked Paulina. "It has never
yet shaped itself in words. A woman's own instinct generally tells her
when she is truly loved; but how came you, a bystander, a mere looker-
on, to discover Douglas Dale's secret?"

"Simply because I am a man of the world, and somewhat of an observer,
and I will pledge my reputation as both upon the issue of your
interview with Douglas Dale."

"So be it," said Paulina; "I will appeal to him. It is a new
degradation; but what has my whole life been except a series of
humiliations? And now, Mr. Carrington, this interview has been very
painful to me. Pardon me, if I ask you to leave me to myself."

Victor complied immediately, and took leave of Madame Durski with many
apologies for his intrusion. Before leaving the house he encountered
Miss Brewer, who came out of a small sitting-room as he entered the
hall.

"You are going away, Mr. Carrington?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered; "but I shall call again in a day or two. Meantime,
let me hear from you, if Dale presents himself here. I have had some
talk with your friend, and am surprised at the ease with which the work
we have to do may be done. She despises Reginald now; she won't love
him long. Good night, Miss Brewer."

CHAPTER XXVI.

MOVE THE FIRST.

After the lapse of a few days, during which Victor Carrington carefully
matured his plans, while apparently only pursuing his ordinary
business, and leading his ordinary life of dutiful attention to his
mother and quiet domestic routine, he received a letter in a
handwriting which was unfamiliar to him. It contained the following
words:

"_In accordance with your desire, and my promise, I write to inform you
that, D. D. has notified his return to London and his intention to
visit P. He did not know whether she was in town, and, therefore, wrote
before coming. She seemed much affected by his letter, and has replied
to it, appointing Wednesday after-noon for receiving him, and inviting
him to luncheon. No communication has been received from R. E., and she
takes the fact easily. If you have any advice, or I suppose I should
say instructions, to give me, you had better come here to-morrow
(Tuesday), when I can see you alone.--C. B._"

Victor Carrington read this note with a smile of satisfaction, which
faithfully interpreted the feelings it produced. There was a business-
like tone in his correspondent's letter which exactly suited his ideas
of what it was advisable his agent should be.

"She is really admirable," he said, as he destroyed Miss Brewer's note;
"just clever enough to be useful, just shrewd enough to understand the
precise force and weight of an argument, but not clever enough, or
shrewd enough, to find out that she is used for any purpose but the one
for which she has bargained."

And then Victor Carrington wrote a few lines to Miss Brewer, in which
he thanked her for her note, and prepared her to receive a visit from
him on the following day. This written and posted, he walked up and
down his laboratory, in deep thought for some time, and then once more
seated himself at his desk. This time his communication was addressed
to Sir Reginald Eversleigh, and merely consisted of a request that that
gentleman should call upon him--Victor Carrington--on a certain day, at
a week's distance from the present date.

"I shall have more trouble with this shallow fool than with all the
rest of them," said Victor to himself, as he sealed his letter; and,
as he said it, he permitted his countenance to assume a very unusual
expression of vexation; "his vanity will make him kick against letting
Paulina turn him off; and he will run the risk of destroying the game
sooner than suffer that mortification. But I will take care he _shall_
suffer it, and _not_ destroy the game.

"No, no, Sir Reginald Eversleigh, _you_ shall not be my stumbling-block
in this instance. How horribly afraid he is of me," thought Victor
Carrington, and a smile of cruel satisfaction, which might have become
a demon, lighted his pale face at the reflection; "he is dying to know
exactly how that business of Dale the elder was managed; he has the
haziest notions in connection with it, and, by Jove, he dare not ask
me. And yet, I am only his agent,--his _to be paid_ agent,--and he
shakes in his shoes before me. Yes, and I will be paid too, richly
paid, Sir Reginald, not only in money, but in power. In power--the best
and most enjoyable thing that money has to buy."

Victor Carrington sent his letter to the post, and joined his mother in
her sitting-room, where her life passed placidly away, among her birds
and her flowers. Mrs. Carrington had none of the vivacity about her
which is so general an attribute of French women. She liked her quiet
life, and had little sympathy with her son's restless ambition and
devouring discontent. A cold, silent, self-contained woman, she shut
herself up in her own occupations, and cared for nothing beyond them.
She had the French national taste and talent for needlework, and
generally listened to her son, as he talked or read to her, with a
piece of elaborate embroidery in her hand. On the present occasion, she
was engaged as usual, and Victor looked at her work and praised it,
according to his custom.

"What is it for, mother?" he asked.

"An altar-cloth," she replied. "I cannot give money, you know, Victor,
and so I am glad to give my work."

The young man's dark eyes flashed, as he replied;--

"True, mother, but the time will come--it is not far off now--when you
and I shall both be set free from poverty, when we shall once more take
our place in our own rank--when we shall be what the Champfontaines
were, and do as the Champfontaines did--when this hateful English name
shall be thrown aside, and this squalid English home abandoned, and the
past restored to us, we to the past." He rose as he spoke, and walked
about the room. A faint flush brightened his sallow face, an unwonted
light glittered in his deep-set eyes. His mother continued to ply her
needle, with downcast eyes, and a face which showed no sign of sympathy
with her son's enthusiasm.

"Industry and talent are good, my Victor," she said, "and they bring
comfort, they bring _le bienetre_ in their train; but I do not think
all the industry and talent you can display as a surgeon in London will
ever enable you to restore the dignity and emulate the wealth of the
old Champfontaines."

Victor Carrington glanced at his mother almost angrily, and for an
instant felt the impulse rise within him which prompted him to tell her
that it was not only by the employment of means so tame and common-
place that he designed to realize the cherished vision of his ambition.
But he checked it instantly, and only said, with the reverential
inflection which his voice never failed to take when he addressed his
mother, "What, then, would you advise me to try, in addition?"

"Marry a rich woman, my Victor; marry one of these moneyed English
girls, who are, for the most part, permitted to follow their
inclinations--inclinations which would surely, if encouraged, lead many
of them your way." Mrs. Carrington spoke in the calmest tone possible.

"Marry--I marry?" said Victor, in a tone of surprise, in which a quick
ear would have noticed something also of disappointment. "I thought you
would never like that, mother. It would part us, you know, and then
what would you do?"

"There is always the convent for me, Victor," said his mother, "if you
no longer needed me." And she composedly threaded her needle, and began
a very minute leaf in the pattern of her embroidery.

Victor Carrington looked at his mother with surprise, and some vague
sense of pain. She _could_ make up her mind to part with him--she had
thought of the possibility, and with complacence. He muttered something
about having something to do, and left her, strangely moved, while she
calmly worked in at her embroidery.

CHAPTER XXVII.

"WEAVE THE WARP, AND WEAVE THE WOOF."

On the following day Victor Carrington presented himself at Hilton
House, and was received by Miss Brewer alone. She was pale, chilly, and
ungracious, as usual, and the understanding which had been arrived at
between Carrington and herself did not move her to the manifestation of
the smallest additional cordiality in her reception of him.

"I have to thank you for your prompt compliance with my request, Miss
Brewer," said Victor.

She made no sound nor sign of encouragement, and he continued. "Since I
saw you, another complication has arisen in this matter, which makes
our game doubly safe and secure. In order to explain this complication
thoroughly, I must ask you to let me put you through a kind of
catechism. Have I your permission, Miss Brewer?"

"You may ask me any questions you please," returned Miss Brewer, in a
hard, cold, even voice; "and I will answer them as truthfully as I
can."

"Do you know anything of Douglas Dale's family connections and
antecedents?"

"I know that his mother was Sir Oswald Eversleigh's sister, and that he
and Lionel Dale, who was drowned on St. Stephen's day, were left large
incomes by their uncle, in addition to some inconsiderable family
property which they inherited from their father, Mr. Melville Dale, who
was a lawyer, and, I believe, a not very successful one."

"Did you ever hear anything of the family history of this Mr. Melville
Dale, the father of Lionel and Douglas?"

"I never heard more than his name, and the circumstance I have already
mentioned."

"Listen, then. Melville Dale had a sister, towards whom their father
conceived undue and unjust partiality (according to the popular
version) from their earliest childhood. This sister, Henrietta Dale,
married, when very young, a country baronet of good fortune, one Sir
George Verner, and thereby still further pleased her father, and
secured his favour. Melville Dale, on the contrary, opposed the old
gentleman in everything, and ultimately crowned the edifice of his
offences by publishing a deistical treatise, which made a considerable
sensation at the time of its appearance, and caused the author's
expulsion from Balliol, where he had already attained a bad eminence by
numerous escapades of the Shelley order. This proceeding so incensed
his father that he made a will, in the heat of his anger, by which he
disinherited Melville Dale, and left the whole of his fortune to his
daughter, Lady Verner. If he repented this summary and vindictive
proceeding, neither I nor any one else can tell. The disinherited son
reformed his life very soon after the breach between himself and his
father, and was lucky enough to win the affections of Sir Oswald
Eversleigh's sister. But he was too proud to ask for his father's
forgiveness, and the father died a year after Douglas Dale's birth--
never having seen Mrs. Dale or his grandchildren. At the time of her
father's death, Lady Verner had no children, and she was, I believe,
disposed to treat her brother very generously; but he was an obstinate,
headstrong man, and persisted in believing that she had purposely done
him injury with his father. He would not see her. He refused to accept
any favour at her hands, and a complete estrangement took place. The
brother and sister never met again; and it was only through the medium
of the newspapers that Lionel and Douglas Dale learned, some time after
their father's death (Melville Dale died young), that severe affliction
had befallen their aunt, Lady Verner. The bitter and deadly breach
between father and son, and between brother and sister, was destined
never to be healed. Lionel and Douglas grew up knowing nothing of their
father's family, but treated always with persistent kindness by their
uncle, Sir Oswald Eversleigh, who insisted upon their making Raynham
Castle a second home."

"Their cousin Reginald must have liked _that_, I fancy," remarked Miss
Brewer, in her coldest tone.

"He _did_, as you suppose," said Carrington; "he hated the Dales, and I
fancy they had but little intimacy with him. He was early taken up by
Sir Oswald, and acknowledged and treated as his heir. You know, of
course, how all that came to grief, and how Sir Oswald married a
nobody, and left her the bulk of his fortune?"

"Yes, I have heard all that," said Miss Brewer. "Sir Reginald did not
spare us the details of the injustice Sir Oswald had done him, or the
expression of his feelings regarding it. Sir Reginald is the most
egotistical man I know."

"Well, then, as you are in possession of the family relations so far,
let me return to Lady Verner, of whom her nephews knew nothing during
their father's lifetime. She had lost her husband shortly after the
birth of her only child, and continued to live at Naples, whither Sir
George had been taken, in the vain hope of prolonging his life. A short
time after Sir George Verner's death, and while his child was almost an
infant, Lady Verner's villa was robbed, and the little girl, with her
nurse, disappeared. The general theory was, that the nurse had connived
at the robbery, and gone off with the thieves; and being, after the
fashion of Italian nurses, extraordinarily fond of the child, had
refused to be parted from her. Be that as it may, the nurse and child
were never heard of again, and though the case was put into the hands
of the cleverest of the police, in Paris and London, no discovery has
ever been made. Lady Verner fell into a state of hopeless melancholy,
in which she continued for many years, and during that period, of
course, her wealth accumulated, and is now very great indeed. I see by
your face, Miss Brewer, that you are growing impatient, and are
disposed to wonder what the family history of the Dales, and the
troubles of Lady Verner, have to do with Paulina Durski and our designs
for her future. Bear with my explanation a little longer, and you will
perceive the importance of the connection between them."

Miss Brewer gave her shoulders a slight shrug, expressive of supreme
resignation, and Victor continued.

"Lady Verner has now recovered, under the influence of time and medical
skill, and has come to London with the avowed purpose of arranging the
affairs of her large property. She has heard of Lionel Dale's death,
and, therefore, knows that there is a candidate the less in the field.
Sir Reginald Eversleigh has obtained access to this lady, and he has
carefully nipped in the bud certain symptoms of interest which she
betrayed in the fate of Sir Oswald Eversleigh's widow and orphan
daughter. Lady Verner is an exceedingly proud woman, and you may
suppose her maternal instincts are powerful, when the loss of her child
caused her years of melancholy madness. My gifted friend speedily
discovered these characteristics, and practised on them. Lady Verner
was made aware that the widow of Sir Oswald Eversleigh was a person of
low origin, and dubious reputation, and cared so little for her child
that she had gone abroad, for an indefinite time, leaving the little
girl at Raynham, in the care of servants. The result of this
representation was, that Lady Verner felt and expressed extreme
disgust, and considerable satisfaction that she had not committed
herself to a course from which she must have receded, by opening any
communication with Lady Eversleigh. One danger thus disposed of--and I
must say I think Reginald did it well--he was very enthusiastic, he
tells me, on the virtues of his uncle, and his inextinguishable regret
for that benefactor of his youth."

Miss Brewer's cold smile, and glittering, baleful eye, attracted
Carrington's attention at this point.

"That shocks you, does it, Miss Brewer?" he asked.

"Shock me? Oh no! It rather interests me; there's an eminence of
baseness in it."

"So there is," said Carrington, with pleased assent, "especially to one
who knows, as I do, how Reginald hated his uncle, living-how he hates
his memory, dead. However, he did this, and did it well; but it was
only half his task. Lady Verner would keep herself clear of Lady
Eversleigh, but she must be kept clear of Douglas Dale."

"Ha!" said Miss Brewer, with a slight change of attitude and
expression, "I see now; she must be turned against him by means of
Paulina--poor Paulina! She says she is fatal to him; she says he ought
to fly from her. This looks still more like her being right."

"It does, indeed, Miss Brewer," said Carrington, gravely. "You are
right. It was by means of Madame Durski that the trick was done; but
neither you nor I--and I assure you I like your friend immensely--can
afford to take objection to the manner of doing it. Lady Verner was
made to understand that by extending her countenance to, or enriching
Douglas Dale, she would only be giving additional security and _eclat_
to a marriage scarcely less disgraceful than that which Sir Oswald
Eversleigh had contracted. The device has been successful, so far. And
now comes the third portion of Sir Reginald's game--the substitution of
himself in Lady Verner's good graces for the nephew he has ousted. This
is only fair, after all. Dale cut him out with his uncle--he means to
cut Dale out with his aunt. You understand our programme now, Miss
Brewer, don't you?"

"Yes," she replied, slowly, "but I don't see why I should lend him any
assistance. It would be more to my interest that Douglas Dale should
inherit this lady's fortune; the richer Paulina's husband is, the
better for me."

"Unquestionably, my dear Miss Brewer," said Carrington. "But Dale will
not marry Paulina if Sir Reginald Eversleigh chooses to prevent it; and
Douglas Dale will not give you five hundred pounds for any services
whatever, because there are none which you can render him. I think you
can see that pretty plainly, Miss Brewer. And you can also see, I
presume, that, provided _I_ get _my_ money from Eversleigh, it is a
manner of total indifference to me whether he gets _Lady Verner's_
money, or whether Dale gets it. The only means by which I can get my
money is by detaching Sir Reginald from Paulina, and making him marry
the ironmonger's heiress. When that is done, and the money is paid, I
am perfectly satisfied that Dale should get the fortune, and I think it
very likely he will; but you must perceive that I cannot play my own
game except by appearing to play Reginald's."

"Is Lady Verner likely to think the ironmonger's heiress a good match
for Sir Reginald Eversleigh?" Miss Brewer asked, in a coldly sarcastic
tone.

"How is she to know anything of her origin?" returned Carrington, who
was, however, disconcerted by the question. "She lives a most retired
life; no one but Reginald has any access to her, and he can make her
believe anything he likes."

"That's fortunate," said Miss Brewer, drily; "pray proceed."

"Well, then, you see these points as clearly as I do--the next thing to
be done is to secure Paulina's marriage with Douglas Dale."

"I don't think that needs much securing," said Miss Brewer. "Judging
from his manner before he left town, and from the tone of his letter, I
should think very little encouragement from her would ensure a proposal
of marriage from him."

"And will she give him that encouragement?"

"Undoubtedly--I fully believe she will marry Douglas Dale. She has
certainly learned to despise Sir Reginald Eversleigh, and I think Mr.
Dale has caught her heart in the rebound."

"Have you attended to my instructions about impressing her money
difficulties on her mind--have you made things as bad as possible?"

"Certainly," answered Miss Brewer. "Only this morning I have sent into
her room several pressing and impertinent letters from her
tradespeople, and I put some accounts of the most dispiriting character
before her last night. She is in dreadfully low spirits."

"So much the better! If we can but induce her to borrow money from
Dale, all will be well; he will take that as a convincing proof of
regard and confidence, and will propose to her at once. I am sure of
it. So sure, that I will pass that matter by, and take it for granted.
And now--if this comes to pass, and Douglas Dale is here as the
accepted lover of Paulina, I must have constant access to the house,
and he must not know me as Victor Carrington. He has never seen me,
though I am familiar with his appearance."