Run to Earth by M. E. Braddon

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

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The calm beauty of a rustic landscape, and the grandeur of wilder
scenery, were alike within reach of the explorer from the castle.

On this bright August afternoon, Sir Oswald had chosen for the special
object of their drive the summit of a wooded hill, whence a superb
range of country was to be seen. This hill was called Thorpe Peak, and
was about seven miles from the castle.

The barouche stopped at the foot of the hill; the baronet and his wife
alighted, and walked up a woody pathway leading to the summit,
accompanied by Reginald, who left his horse with the servants.

They ascended the hill slowly, Lady Eversleigh leaning upon her
husband's arm. The pathway wound upward, through plantations of fir,
and it was only on the summit that the open country burst on the view
of the pedestrian. On the summit they found a gentleman seated on the
trunk of a fallen tree, sketching. A light portable colour-box lay open
by his side, and a small portfolio rested on his knees.

He seemed completely absorbed in his occupation, for he did not raise
his eyes from his work as Sir Oswald and his companions approached. He
wore a loose travelling dress, which, in its picturesque carelessness
of style, was not without elegance.

A horse was grazing under a group of firs near at hand, fastened to one
of the trees by the bridle.

This traveller was Victor Carrington.

"Carrington!" exclaimed Mr. Eversleigh; "whoever would have thought of
finding you up here? Sketching too!"

The surgeon lifted his head suddenly, looked at his friend, and burst
out laughing, as he rose to shake hands. He looked handsomer in his
artistic costume than ever Reginald Eversleigh had seen him look
before. The loose velvet coat, the wide linen collar and neckerchief of
dark-blue silk, set off the slim figure and pale foreign face.

"You are surprised to see me; but I have still more right to be
surprised at seeing you. What brings you here?"

"I am staying with my uncle, Sir Oswald Eversleigh, at Raynham Castle."

"Ah, to be sure; that superb place within four miles of the village of
Abbey wood, where I have taken up my quarters."

The baronet and his wife had been standing at a little distance from
the two young men; but Sir Oswald advanced, with Honoria still upon his
arm.

"Introduce me to your friend, Reginald," he said, in his most cordial
manner.

Reginald obeyed, and Victor was presented to Sir Oswald and his wife.
His easy and graceful bearing was calculated to make an agreeable
impression at the outset, and Sir Oswald was evidently pleased with the
appearance and manners of his nephew's friend.

"You are an artist, I see, Mr. Carrington," he said, after glancing at
the young man's sketch, which, even in its unfinished state, was no
contemptible performance.

"An amateur only, Sir Oswald," answered Victor. "I am by profession a
surgeon; but as yet I have not practised. I find independence so
agreeable that I can scarcely bring myself to resign it. I have been
wandering about this delightful county for the last week or two, with
my sketch-book under my arm--halting for a day or two in any
picturesque spot I came upon, and hiring a horse whenever I could get a
decent animal. It is a very simple mode of enjoying a holiday; but it
suits me."

"Your taste does you credit. But if you are in my neighbourhood, you
must take your horses from the Raynham stables. Where are your present
quarters?"

"At the little inn by Abbeywood Bridge."

"Four miles from the castle. We are near neighbours, Mr. Carrington,
according to country habits. You must ride back with us, and dine at
Raynham."

"You are very kind, Sir Oswald; but my dress will preclude--"

"No consequence whatever. We are quite alone just now; and I am sure
Lady Eversleigh will excuse a traveller's toilet. If you are not bent
upon finishing this very charming sketch, I shall insist on your
returning with us; and you join me in the request, eh, Honoria?"

Lady Eversleigh smiled an assent, and the surgeon murmured his thanks.
As yet he had looked little at the baronet's beautiful wife. He had
come to Yorkshire with the intention of studying this woman as a man
studies an abstruse and difficult science; but he was too great a
tactician to betray any unwonted interest in her. The policy of his
life was patience, and in this as in everything else, he waited his
opportunity.

"She is very beautiful," he thought, "and she has made a good market
out of her beauty; but it is only the beginning of the story yet--the
middle and the end have still to come."

* * * * *

After this meeting on Thorpe Peak, the surgeon became a constant
visitor at Raynham. Sir Oswald was delighted with the young man's
talents and accomplishments; and Victor contrived to win credit by the
apparently accidental revelation of his early struggles, his mother's
poverty, his patient studies, and indomitable perseverance. He told of
these things without seeming to tell them; a word now, a chance
allusion then, revealed the story of his friendless youth. Sir Oswald
fancied that such a companion was eminently adapted to urge his nephew
onward in the difficult road that leads to fortune and distinction.

"If Reginald had only half your industry, half your perseverance, I
should not fear for his future career, Mr. Carrington," said the
baronet, in the course of a confidential conversation with his visitor.

"That will come in good time, Sir Oswald," answered Victor. "Reginald
is a noble fellow, and has a far nobler nature than I can pretend to
possess. The very qualities which you are good enough to praise in me
are qualities which you cannot expect to find in him. I was a pupil in
the stern school of poverty from my earliest infancy, while Reginald
was reared in the lap of luxury. Pardon me, Sir Oswald, if I speak
plainly; but I must remind you that there are few young men who would
have passed honourably through the ordeal of such a change of fortune
as that which has fallen on your nephew."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that with most men such a reverse would have been utter ruin of
soul and body. An ordinary man, finding all the hopes of his future,
all the expectations, which had been a part of his very life, taken
suddenly from him, would have abandoned himself to a career of vice; he
would have become a blackleg, a swindler, a drunkard, a beggar at the
doors of the kinsman who had cast him off. But it was not so with
Reginald Eversleigh. From the moment in which he found himself cast
adrift by the benefactor who had been more than a father to him, he
confronted evil fortune calmly and bravely. He cut the link between
himself and extravagant companions. He disappeared from the circles in
which he had been admired and courted; and the only grief which preyed
upon his generous heart sprang from the knowledge that he had forfeited
his uncle's affection."

Sir Oswald sighed. For the first time he began to think that it was
just possible he had treated his nephew with injustice.

"You are right, Mr. Carrington," he said, after a pause; "it was a hard
trial for any man; and I am proud to think that Reginald passed
unscathed through so severe an ordeal. But the resolution at which I
arrived a year and a half ago is one that I cannot alter now. I have
formed new ties; I have new hopes for the future. My nephew must pay
the penalty of his past errors, and must look to his own exertions for
wealth and honour. If I die without a direct heir, he will succeed to
the baronetcy, and I hope he will try his uttermost to win a fortune by
which he may maintain his title."

There was very little promise in this; but Victor Carrington was,
nevertheless, tolerably well satisfied with the result of the
conversation. He had sown the seeds of doubt and uncertainty in the
baronet's breast. Time only could bring the harvest. The surgeon was
accustomed to work underground, and knew that all such work must be
slow and laborious.

* * * * *

CHAPTER VII.

"O BEWARE, MY LORD, OF JEALOUSY."

The castle was gay with the presence of many guests. The baronet was
proud to gather old friends and acquaintances round him, in order that
he might show them the fair young wife he had chosen to be the solace
of his declining years. A man of fifty who marries a girl of nineteen
is always subject to the ridicule of scandalous lips, the ironical
jests of pitiless tongues. Sir Oswald Eversleigh knew this, and he
wanted to show the world that he was happy--supremely happy--in the
choice that he had made.

Amongst those who came to Raynham Castle this autumn was one trusted
friend of Sir Oswald, a gruff old soldier, Captain Copplestone, a man
who had never won advancement in the service; but who was known to have
nobly earned the promotion which had never been awarded him.

This man was on brotherly terms with Sir Oswald, and was about the only
creature who had ever dared to utter disagreeable truths to the
baronet. He was very poor; but had never accepted the smallest favour
from the hands of his wealthy friend. Sir Oswald was devoutly attached
to him, and would have gladly opened his purse to him as to a brother;
but he dared not offend the stern old soldier's pride by even hinting
at such a desire.

Captain Copplestone came to Raynham prepared to remonstrate with his
friend on the folly of his marriage. He arrived when the reception-room
was crowded with other visitors, and be stood by, looking on in grim
disdain, while the newly arrived guests were pressing their
felicitations on Sir Oswald.

By and bye the guests departed to their rooms, and the friends were
left alone.

"Well, old friend," cried the baronet, stretching out both his hands to
grasp those of the captain in a warmer salutation than that of his
first welcome, "am I to have no word of congratulation from you?"

"What word do you want?" growled Copplestone. "If I tell you the truth,
you won't like it; and if I were to try to tell you a lie, egad! I
think the syllables would choke me. It has been hard enough for me to
keep patience while all those idiots have been babbling their unmeaning
compliments; and now that they've gone away to laugh at you behind your
back, you'd better let me follow their example, and not risk the chance
of a quarrel with an old friend by speaking my mind."

"You think me a fool, then, Copplestone?"

"Why, what else can I think of you? If a man of fifty must needs go and
marry a girl of nineteen, he can't expect to be thought a Solon."

"Ah, Copplestone, when you have seen my wife, you will think
differently."

"Not a bit of it. The prettier she is, the more fool I shall think you;
for there'll be so much the more certainty that she'll make your life
miserable."

"Here she comes!" said the baronet; "look at her before you judge her
too severely, old friend, and let her face answer for her truth."

The room in which the two men were standing opened into another and
larger apartment, and through the open folding-doors Captain
Copplestone saw Lady Eversleigh approaching. She was dressed in white--
that pure, transparent muslin in which her husband loved best to see
her--and one large natural rose was fastened amidst her dark hair. As
she drew nearer to the baronet and his friend, the bluff old soldier's
face softened.

The introduction was made by Sir Oswald, and Honoria held out her hand
with her brightest and most bewitching smile.

"My husband has spoken of you very often, Captain Copplestone," she
said; "and I feel as if we were old friends rather than strangers. I
have pleasure in bidding welcome to all Sir Oswald's guests; but not
such pleasure as I feel in welcoming you."

The soldier extended his bronzed hand, and grasped the soft white
fingers in a pressure that was something like that of an iron vice. He
looked at Lady Eversleigh with a serio-comic expression of
bewilderment, and looked from her to the baronet.

"Well?" asked Sir Oswald, presently, when Honoria had left them.

"Well, Oswald, if the truth must be told, I think you had some excuse
for your folly. She is a beautiful creature; and if there is any faith
to be put in the human countenance, she is as good as she is
beautiful."

The baronet grasped his friend's hand with a pressure that was more
eloquent than words. He believed implicitly in the captain's powers of
penetration, and this favourable judgment of the wife he adored filled
him with gratitude. It was not that the faintest shadow of doubt
obscured his own mind. He trusted her fully and unreservedly; but he
wanted others to trust her also.

* * * * *

While Sir Oswald and his friend were enjoying a brief interval of
confidential intercourse, Reginald Eversleigh and Victor Carrington
lounged in a pleasant little sitting-room, smoking their cigars, and
leaning on the stone sill of the wide Gothic window.

They were talking, and talking very earnestly.

"You are a very clever fellow, I know, my dear Carrington," said
Reginald; "but it is slow work, very slow work, and I don't see my way
through it."

"Because you are as impatient as a child who has set his heart on a new
toy," answered the surgeon, disdainfully. "You complain that the game
is slow, and yet you see one move after another made upon the board--
and made successfully. A month ago you did not believe in the
possibility of a reconciliation between your uncle and yourself; and
yet that reconciliation has come about. A fortnight ago you would have
laughed at the idea of my being here at Raynham, an invited guest; and
yet here I am. Do you think there has been no patient thought necessary
to work out this much of our scheme? Do you suppose that I was on
Thorpe Hill by accident that afternoon?"

"And you hope that something may come of your visit here?"

"I hope that much may come of it. I have already dared to drop hints at
injustice done to you. That idea of injustice will rankle in your
uncle's mind. I have my plans, Reginald, and you have only to be
patient, and to trust in me."

"But why should you refuse to tell me the nature of your plans?"

"Because my plans are as yet but half formed. I may soon be able to
speak more plainly. Do you see those two figures yonder, walking in the
_pleasaunce_?"

"Yes, I see them--my uncle and his wife," answered Reginald, with a
gesture of impatience.

"They are very happy--are they not? It is quite an Arcadian picture. I
beg you to contemplate it earnestly."

"What a fool you are, Carrington!" cried the young man, flinging away
his cigar. "If my uncle chooses to make an idiot of himself, that is no
reason why I should watch the evidence of his folly!"

"But there is another reason," answered Victor, with a sinister look in
his glittering black eyes. "Look at the picture while you may,
Reginald, for you will not have the chance of seeing it very often."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the day is near at hand when Lady Eversleigh will fall
from her high estate. I mean that an elevation as sudden as hers is
often the forerunner of a sudden disgrace. The hour will come when Sir
Oswald will mourn his fatal marriage as the one irrevocable mistake of
his life; and when, in his despair, he will restore you, the disgraced
nephew, to your place, as his acknowledged heir; because you will at
least seem to him more worthy than his disgraced wife."

"And who is to bring this about?" asked Reginald, gazing at his friend
in complete bewilderment.

"I am," answered the surgeon; "but before I do so I must have some
understanding as to the price of my services. If the cat who pulled the
chestnuts out of the fire for the benefit of the monkey had made an
agreement beforehand as to how much of the plunder he was to receive
for his pains, the name of the animal would not have become a bye-word
with posterity. When I have worked to win your fortune, I must have my
reward, my dear Reginald."

"Do you suppose I should be ungrateful?"

"Of course not. But, you see, I don't ask for your gratitude--I want a
good round sum down on the nail--hard cash. Your uncle's fortune, if
you get two-thirds of it, will be worth thirty thousand a year; and for
such a fortune you can very well afford to pay me twenty thousand in
ready money within two years of your accession to the inheritance."

"Twenty thousand!"

"Yes; if you think the sum too much, we will say no more about it. The
business is a very difficult one, and I scarcely care to engage in it."

"My dear Victor, you bewilder me. I cannot bring myself to believe that
you can bring about my restoration to my old place in my uncle's will;
but if you do, the twenty thousand shall be yours."

"Good!" answered the surgeon, in his coolest and most business-like
manner; "I must have it in black and white. You will give me two
promissory notes; one for ten thousand, to fall due a year hence--the
other for the same sum, to fall due in two years."

"But if I do not get the fortune--and I am not likely to get it within
that time; my uncle's life is a good one, and--"

"Never mind your uncle's life. I will give you an undertaking to cancel
those notes of hand if you have not succeeded to the Raynham estates.
And now here are stamps. You may as well fill in the body of the notes,
and sign them at once, and so close the transaction."

"You are prepared with the stamps?"

"Yes; I am a man of business, although a man of science."

"Victor," said Reginald Eversleigh; "you sometimes make me shudder,
There is something almost diabolical about you."

"But if I drag yonder fair lady down from her high, estate, you would
scarcely care if I were the foul fiend in person," said Carrington,
looking at his friend with a sardonic smile. "Oh, I think I know you,
Reginald Eversleigh, better than you know me."

* * * * *

Amongst the guests who had arrived at the castle within the last few
days was Lydia Graham, the young lady of whom the baronet had spoken to
his nephew. She was a fascinating girl, with a bold, handsome face,
brilliant gray eyes, an aquiline nose, and a profusion of dark, waving
hair. She was a woman who knew how to make the most of every charm with
which nature had endowed her. She dressed superbly; but with an
extravagance far beyond the limits of her means. She was, for this
reason, deeply in debt, and her only chance of extrication from her
difficulties lay in a brilliant marriage.

For nearly nine years she had been trying to make this brilliant
marriage. She had "come out," as the phrase goes, at seventeen, and she
was now nine-and-twenty.

During that period she had been wooed and flattered by troops of
admirers. She had revelled in flirtations; she had triumphed in the
power of her beauty; but she had known more than one disappointment of
her fairest hopes, and she had not won the prize in the great lottery
of fashionable life--a wealthy and patrician husband.

Her nine-and-twentieth birthday had passed; and contemplating herself
earnestly in her glass, she was fain to confess that something of the
brilliancy of her beauty had faded.

"I am getting wan and sallow," she said to herself; "what is to become
of me if I do not marry?"

The prospect was indeed a sorry one.

Lydia Graham possessed an income of two hundred a year, inherited from
her mother: but such an income was the merest pittance for a young lady
with Miss Graham's tastes. Her brother was a captain of an expensive
regiment, selfish and extravagant, and by no means inclined to open his
purse for his sister's benefit.

She had no home; but lived sometimes with one wealthy relation,
sometimes with another--always admired, always elegantly dressed; but
not always happy.

Amidst all Miss Graham's matrimonial disappointments, she had endured
none more bitter than that which she had felt when she read the
announcement of Sir Oswald Eversleigh's marriage in the "Times"
newspaper.

She had met the rich baronet very frequently in society. She had
visited at Raynham with her brother. Sir Oswald had, to all appearance,
admired her beauty and accomplishments; and she had imagined that time
and opportunity alone were wanting to transform that admiration into a
warmer feeling. In plain words, Lydia Graham had hoped with a little
good management, to become Lady Eversleigh of Raynham; and no words can
fully describe her mortification when she learnt that the baronet had
bestowed his name and fortune on a woman of whom the fashionable world
knew nothing, except that she was utterly unknown.

Lydia Graham came to Raynham Castle with poisonous feelings rankling in
her heart, but she wore her brightest smiles as well as her most
elegant dresses. She congratulated the baronet in honeyed words, and
offered warmest friendship to the lovely mistress of the mansion.

"I am sure we shall suit each other delightfully, dear Lady
Eversleigh," she said; "and we shall be fast friends henceforward-shall
we not?"

Honoria's disposition was naturally reserved. She revolted against
frivolous and unmeaning sentimentality. She responded politely to Miss
Graham's proffers of friendship; but not with corresponding warmth.

Lydia Graham perceived the coldness of her manner, and bitterly
resented it. She felt that she had reason to hate this woman, who had
caused the disappointment of her dearest hopes, whose beauty was
infinitely superior to her own; and who was several years younger than
herself.

There was one person at Raynham whose scrutinizing eyes perceived the
animosity of feeling lurking beneath Lydia Graham's smooth manner. That
penetrating observer was Victor Carrington. He saw that the fashionable
beauty hated Lady Eversleigh, and he resolved to make use of her hatred
for the furtherance of his schemes.

"I fancy Miss Graham has at some time of her life cherished an idea
that she might become mistress of this place, eh, Reginald?" he said
one morning, as the two men lounged together on the terrace.

"How did you know that?" said Reginald, questioning and replying at
once.

"By no diabolical power of divination, I assure you, my dear Reginald.
I have only used my eyes. But it seems, from your exclamation, that I
am right. Miss Graham did once hope to become Lady Eversleigh."

"Well, I believe she tried her uttermost to win my uncle for a husband.
I have watched her manoeuvres--when she was here two years ago; but
they did not give me much uneasiness, for I thought Sir Oswald was a
confirmed bachelor. She used to vary her amusements by flirting with
me. I was the acknowledged heir in those days, you know, and I have no
doubt she would have married me if I had given her the opportunity. But
she is too clever a woman for my taste; and with all her brilliancy, I
never admired her."

"You are wise, for once in the way, my dear Reginald. Miss Graham is a
dangerous woman. She has a very beautiful smile; but she is the sort of
woman who can smile and murder while she smiles. But she may be made a
very useful tool, notwithstanding."

"A tool?"

"Yes; a good workman takes his tools wherever he finds them. I may be
in want of just such a tool as Lydia Graham."

All went merry as a marriage-bell at Raynham Castle during the bright
August weather. The baronet was unspeakably happy. Honoria, too, was
happy in the novelty of her position; happy in the knowledge of her
husband's love. His noble nature had won the reward such natures should
win. He was beloved by his young wife as few men are beloved in the
heyday of their youth. Her affection was reverential, profound, and
pure. To her mind, Oswald Eversleigh was the perfection of all that is
noble in mankind, and she was proud of his devotion, grateful of his
love.

No guest at the castle was more popular than Victor Carrington, the
surgeon. His accomplishments were of so varied a nature as to make him
invaluable in a large party, and he was always ready to devote himself
to the amusement of others. Sir Oswald was astonished at the
versatility of his nephew's friend. As a linguist, an artist, a
musician, Victor alike shone pre-eminent; but in music he was
triumphant. Professing only to be an amateur, he exhibited a scientific
knowledge, a mechanical proficiency, as rare as they were admirable.

"A poor man is obliged to study many arts," he said, carelessly, when
Sir Oswald complimented him on his musical powers. "My life has been
one of laborious industry; and the cultivation of music has been almost
the only relaxation I have allowed myself. I am not, like Lady
Eversleigh, a musical genius. I only pretend to be a patient student of
the great masters."

The baronet was delighted with the musical talents of his guest because
they assisted much in the display of Lady Eversleigh's exceptional
power. Victor Carrington's brilliant playing set off the magnificent
singing of Honoria. With him as her accompanyist, she sang as she could
not sing without his aid. Every evening there was an impromptu concert
in the long drawing-room; every evening Lady Eversleigh sang to Victor
Carrington's accompaniment.