Run to Earth by M. E. Braddon

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

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One evening, in the summer dusk, when she had been singing even more
superbly than usual, Lydia Graham happened to be seated near Sir
Oswald, in one of the broad open windows.

"Lady Eversleigh is indeed a genius," said Miss Graham, at the close of
a superb _bravura_; "but how delightful for her to have that
accomplished Mr. Carrington to accompany her--though some people prefer
to play their own accompaniments. I do, for instance; but when one has
a relative who plays so well, it is, of course, a different thing."

"A relative! I don't understand you, my dear Miss Graham."

"I mean that it is very nice for Lady Eversleigh to have a cousin who
is so accomplished a musician."

"A cousin?"

"Yes. Mr. Carrington is Lady Eversleigh's cousin--is he not? Or, I beg
your pardon, perhaps he is her brother. I don't know your wife's maiden
name."

"My wife's maiden name was Milford," answered the baronet, with some
displeasure in his tone. "And Mr. Carrington is neither her brother nor
her cousin; he is no relation whatever to her."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Miss Graham.

There was a strange significance in that word "indeed"; and after
having uttered it, the young lady seemed seized with a sudden sense of
embarrassment.

Sir Oswald looked at her sharply; but her face was half averted from
him, as if she had turned away in confusion. "You seem surprised," he
said, haughtily, "and yet I do not see anything surprising in the fact
that my wife and Mr. Carrington are not related to each other."

"Oh, dear no, Sir Oswald; of course not," replied Lydia, with a light
laugh, which had the artificial sound of a laugh intended to disguise
some painful embarrassment. "Of course not. It was very absurd of me to
appear surprised, if I did really appear so; but I was not aware of it.
You see, it was scarcely strange if I thought Lady Eversleigh and Mr.
Carrington were nearly related; for, when people are very old friends,
they seem like relations: it is only in name that there is any
difference."

"You seemed determined to make mistakes this evening, Miss Graham,"
answered the baronet, with icy sternness. "Lady Eversleigh and Mr.
Carrington are by no means old friends. Neither my wife nor I have
known the gentleman more than a fortnight. He happens to be a very
accomplished musician, and is good enough to make himself useful in
accompanying Lady Eversleigh when she sings. That is the only claim
which he has on her friendship; and it is one of only a few days'
standing."

"Indeed!" said Miss Graham, repeating the exclamation which had sounded
so disagreeable to Sir Oswald. "I certainly should have mistaken them
for old friends; but then dear Lady Eversleigh is of Italian
extraction, and there is always a warmth of manner, an absence of
reserve, in the southern temperament which is foreign to our colder
natures."

Lady Eversleigh rose from her seat just at this moment, in compliance
with the entreaties of the circle about her.

She approached the grand piano, where Victor Carrington was still
sitting, turning over the leaves of some music, and at the same moment
Sir Oswald rose also, and hurried towards her.

"Do not sing any more to-night, Honoria," he said; "you will fatigue
yourself."

There was some lack of politeness in this speech, as Lady Eversleigh
was about to sing in compliance with the entreaties of her guests. She
turned to her husband with a smile--

"I am not in the least tired, my dear Oswald," she said; "and if our
friends really wish for another song, I am quite ready to sing one.
That is to say, if Mr. Carrington is not tired of accompanying me."

Victor Carrington declared that nothing gave him greater pleasure than
to play Lady Eversleigh's accompaniments.

"Mr. Carrington is very good," answered the baronet, coldly, "but I do
not wish you to tire yourself by singing all the evening; and I beg
that you will not sing again to-night, Honoria."

Never before had the baronet addressed his wife with such cold decision
of manner. There was something almost severe in his tone, and Honoria
looked at him with wondering eyes.

"I have no greater pleasure than in obeying you," she said, gently, as
she withdrew from the piano.

She seated herself by one of the tables, and opened a portfolio of
sketches. Her head drooped over the book, and she seemed absorbed in
the contemplation of the drawings. Glancing at her furtively, Sir
Oswald could see that she was wounded; and yet he--the adoring husband,
the devoted lover--did not approach her. His mind was disturbed--his
thoughts confused. He passed through one of the open windows, and went
out upon the terrace. There all was calm and tranquil; but the tranquil
loveliness of the scene had no soothing influence on Sir Oswald. His
brain was on fire. An intense affection can scarcely exist without a
lurking tendency to jealousy. Until to-night every jealous feeling had
been lulled to rest by the confiding trust of the happy husband; but
to-night a few words--spoken in apparent carelessness--spoken by one
who could have, as Sir Oswald thought, no motive for malice--had
aroused the sleeping passion, and peace had fled from his heart.

As Sir Oswald passed the window by which he had left Lydia Graham, he
heard that young lady talking to some one.

"It is positively disgraceful," she said; "her flirtation with that Mr.
Carrington is really too obvious, though Sir Oswald is so blind as not
to perceive it. I thought they were cousins until to-night. Imagine my
surprise when I found that they were not even distantly related; that
they have actually only known each other for a fortnight. The woman
must be a shameless flirt, and the man is evidently an adventurer."

The poisoned arrow shot to its mark. Sir Oswald believed that these
words had never been intended to reach his ears. He did not for a
moment suspect that Lydia Graham had recognized his approaching figure
on the moonlit terrace, and had uttered these words to her friend on
purpose that they should reach his ears.

How should a true-hearted man suspect a woman's malice? How should he
fathom the black depths of wickedness to which a really false and
heartless woman can descend?

He did not know that Lydia Graham had ever hoped to be mistress of his
home. He did not know that she was inspired by fury against himself--by
passionate envy of his wife. To him her words seemed only the careless
slander of society, and experience had shown him that in such slanders
there lurked generally some leaven of truth.

"I will not doubt her," he thought, as he walked onward in the
moonlight, too proud and too honourable to linger in order to hear
anything more that Miss Graham might have to say. "I will not doubt the
wife I love so fondly, because idle tongues are already busy with her
fair fame. Already! We have not been married two months, and already
evil tongues drop the poison of doubt into my ear. It seems too cruel!
But I will watch her with this man. Her ignorance of the world may have
caused her to be more familiar with him than the rigid usages of
society would permit. And yet she is generally so dignified, so
reserved--apt to err on the side of coldness rather than of warmth. I
must watch!--I must watch!"

Never before had Sir Oswald known the anguish of distrust. But his was
an impulsive nature, easily swayed by the force of any absorbing
passion. Blindly, unquestionably, as he had abandoned himself to his
love for Honoria Milford, so now he abandoned himself to the jealous
doubts inspired by a malicious woman's lying tongue.

That night his slumbers were broken and feverish. The next day he set
himself to watch his wife and Victor Carrington.

The mind, imbued with suspicion, contemplates everything in a distorted
light. Victor Carrington was especially attentive to the mistress of
the castle. It was not that he talked to her, or usurped more of her
society than his position warranted; but he devoted himself to her
service with a slavish watchfulness which was foreign to the manner of
an ordinary guest.

Wherever Lady Eversleigh went, Carrington's eyes followed her; every
wish of hers seemed to be divined by him. If she lingered for a few
moments by an open window, Mr. Carrington was at hand with her shawl.
If she was reading, and the leaves of her book required to be cut open,
the surgeon had procured her a paper-knife before she could suffer
inconvenience or delay. If she went to the piano, he was at the
instrument before her, ready to adjust her chair, to arrange her music.
In another man these attentions might have appeared very common-place,
but so quiet of foot, so subdued of voice, was Victor Carrington, that
there seemed something stealthy, something secret in his devotion;
something which had no right to exist. One long day of patient
watchfulness revealed all this to Sir Oswald Eversleigh; and with the
revelation came a new and terrible agony.

How far was his wife to blame for all that was exceptional in the
surgeon's manner? Was she aware of his devotion? Did she encourage this
silent and stealthy worship? She did not, at any rate, discourage it,
since she permitted it.

The baronet wondered whether Victor Carrington's manner impressed
others as it impressed himself. One person had, he knew, been
scandalized by the surgeon's devotion to Lady Eversleigh; and had
spoken of it in the plainest terms. But did other eyes see as Lydia
Graham and he himself had seen?

He determined on questioning his nephew as to the character of the
gentlemanly and accomplished surgeon, whom an impulse of kindness had
prompted him to welcome under his roof--an impulse which he now
bitterly regretted.

"Your friend, Mr. Carrington, is very attentive to Lady Eversleigh,"
said Sir Oswald to Reginald, with a pitiable attempt at indifference of
manner; "is he generally so devoted in his attention to ladies?"

"On the contrary, my dear uncle," answered Reginald, with an appearance
of carelessness which was as well assumed as that of his kinsman was
awkward and constrained; "Victor Carrington generally entertains the
most profound contempt for the fair sex. He is devoted to the science
of chemistry, you know, and in London passes the best part of his life
in his laboratory. But then Lady Eversleigh is such a superior person--
it is no wonder he admires her."

"He admires her very much, then?"

"Amazingly--if I can judge by what he said when first he became
acquainted with her. He has grown more reserved lately."

"Oh, indeed. He has grown more reserved lately, has he?" asked the
baronet, whose suspicions were fed by every word his nephew uttered.

"Yes. I suppose he thinks I might take objection to his enthusiastic
admiration of Lady Eversleigh. Very absurd of him, is it not? For, of
course, my dear uncle, you cannot feel otherwise than proud when you
see your beautiful young wife surrounded by worshippers; and one
devotee more or less at the shrine can make little difference."

These words, carelessly spoken, galled Sir Oswald to the quick; but he
tried to conceal his pain, and parted from his nephew with affected
gaiety of spirit.

Alone in his own study, he pondered long and moodily over the events of
the day. He shrank from the society of his wife. Her tender words
irritated him; he began to think those soft and loving accents were
false. More than once he answered Honoria's anxious questions as to the
cause of his gloom with a harshness that terrified her. She saw that
her husband was changed, and knew not whence the change arose. And this
vagrant's nature was a proud one. Her own manner changed to the man who
had elevated her from the very mire to a position of splendour and
honour. She, too, became reserved, and a cruel breach yawned between
the husband and wife who, a few short days before, had been so happily
united.

Truly, Victor Carrington's schemes prospered. Reginald Eversleigh
looked on in silent wonder--too base to oppose himself to the foul plot
which was being concocted under his eyes. Whatever the schemer bade him
do, he did without shame or scruple. Before him glittered the dazzling
vision of future fortune.

A week elapsed--a weary week for Sir Oswald Eversleigh, for every day
and every hour seemed to widen the gulf between himself and his wife.
Conscious of her innocence of the smallest offence against the man she
truly and honestly loved, Honoria was too proud to sue for an
explanation of that mysterious change which had banished all happiness
and peace from her breast. More than once she had asked the cause of
her husband's gloom of manner; more than once she had been coldly,
almost rudely, repulsed. She sought, therefore, to question him no
further; but held herself aloof from him with proud reserve. The cruel
estrangement cost her dear; but she waited for Sir Oswald to break the
ice--she waited for him to explain the meaning of his altered conduct.

In the meantime, she performed all her duties as mistress of the
mansion with the same calm grace which had distinguished her from the
first hour of her elevation to her new position. But the struggle was a
painful one, and left its traces on her beautiful face. Sir Oswald
perceived the change in that lovely countenance, and his jealousy
distorted this change into a damning evidence against her.

"This man's devotion has touched her heart," he thought. "It is of him
she is thinking when she is silent and pensive. She loves me no longer.
Fool that I am, she never loved me! She saw in me a dupe ready to lift
her from obscurity into the place she longed to occupy; and now that
place is hers, she need no longer care to blindfold the eyes of her
dupe; she may please herself, and enjoy the attentions of more
agreeable adorers."

Then, in the next moment, remorse took possession of the baronet's
heart, and for awhile he fancied that he had wronged his wife.

"Is she to blame because this man loves her?" he asked himself. "She
may not even be aware of his love, though my watchful eyes have
penetrated the secret. Oh, if I could only take her away from Raynham
without delay--this very moment--or if I could clear the castle of all
this frivolous, selfish, heartless gang--what happiness it would be!
But I can do neither. I have invited these people, and I must play my
part to the end. Even this Victor Carrington I dare not send out of my
house; for, in so doing, I should confirm the suspicions of Lydia
Graham, and all who think like her."

Thus mused Sir Oswald as he paced the broad terrace-walk alone, while
his guests were enjoying themselves in different parts of the castle
and grounds; and while Lady Eversleigh spent the summer afternoon in
her own apartments, brooding sadly on her husband's unkindness.

There was one person to whom, in any ordinary trouble of mind, Sir
Oswald Eversleigh would have most certainly turned for consolation; and
that person was his old and tried friend, Captain Copplestone. But the
jealous doubts which racked his brain were not to be revealed, even to
this faithful friend. There was bitter humiliation in the thought of
opening those bleeding wounds which had so newly lacerated his heart.

If Captain Copplestone had been near his friend in the hour of his
trouble, he might, perhaps, have wrung the baronet's secret from him in
some unguarded moment; but within the last week the Captain had been
confined to his own apartments by a violent attack of gout; and except
a brief daily visit of inquiry, Sir Oswald had seen nothing of him.

He was very carefully tended, however, in his hours of suffering. Even
her own anxiety of mind did not render Lady Eversleigh forgetful of her
husband's invalid friend. Every day, and many times a day, the Captain
received some new evidence of her thoughtful care. It pleased her to do
this--apart from her natural inclination to be kind to the suffering
and friendless; for the soldier was her husband's valued friend, and in
testifying her respect for him, it seemed to her as if she were in some
manner proving her devotion to the husband from whom she had become so
mysteriously estranged.

Amongst the many plans which had been set on foot for the amusement of
the guests at Raynham, there was one on which all the visitors, male
and female, had especially set their hearts. This much-talked-of
entertainment was a pic-nic, to take place at a celebrated spot, whose
picturesque loveliness was supposed to be unrivalled in the county, and
scarcely exceeded by any scene in all the expanse of fair England.

CHAPTER VIII.

AFTER THE PIC-NIC.

The place was called the Wizard's Cave. It was a gigantic grotto, near
which flowed a waterfall of surpassing beauty. A wild extent of
woodland stretched on one side of this romantic scene; on the other a
broad moor spread wide before a range of hills, one of which was
crowned by the ruins of an old Norman castle that had stood many a
siege in days gone by.

It would have been difficult to select a spot better adapted for a pic-
nic; and some of the gentlemen who had ridden over to inspect the scene
were rapturous in their praises of its sylvan beauty. The cave lay
within ten miles of Raynham. "Just the distance for a delightful
drive," said the ladies--and from the moment that Sir Oswald had
proposed the entertainment, there had been perpetual discussion of the
arrangements necessary, the probability of fine weather, and the date
to be finally chosen. The baronet had proposed this rustic _fete_ when
his own heart had been light and happy; now he looked forward to the
day with a sickening dread of its weariness. Others would be happy; but
the sound of mirthful voices and light laughter would fall with a
terrible discordance on the ear of the man whose mind was tortured by
hidden doubts. Sir Oswald was too courteous a host to disappoint his
visitors. All the preparations for the rustic festival were duly made:
and on the appointed morning a train of horses and carriages drew up in
a line in the quadrangle of the castle.

It would have been impossible to imagine a brighter picture of English
life; and as the guests emerged in groups from the wide, arched
doorway, and took their places in the carriages, or sprang lightly into
their saddles, the spectacle grew more and more enlivening.

Lydia Graham had done her utmost to surpass all rivals on this
important day. Wealthy country squires and rich young lordlings were to
be present at the festival, and the husband-huntress might, perchance,
find a victim among these eligible bachelors. Deeply as she was already
in debt, Miss Graham had written to her French milliner, imploring her
to send her a costume regardless of expense, and promising a speedy
payment of at least half her long-standing account. The fair and false
Lydia did not scruple to hint at the possibility of her making a
brilliant matrimonial alliance ere many months were over, in order that
this hope might beguile the long-suffering milliner into giving further
credit.

The fashionable beauty was not disappointed. The milliner sent the
costume ordered, but wrote to inform Miss Graham, with all due
circumlocution and politeness, that, unless her long-standing account
were quickly settled, legal proceedings must be taken. Lydia threw the
letter aside with a frown, and proceeded to inspect her dress, which
was perfect in its way.

But Miss Graham could scarcely repress a sigh of envy as she looked at
Lady Eversleigh's more simple toilet, and perceived that, with all its
appearance of simplicity, it was twice as costly as her own more
gorgeous attire. The jewels, too, were worth more than all the trinkets
Lydia possessed; and she knew that the treasures of Lady Eversleigh's
jewel-cases were almost inexhaustible, with such a lavish hand had her
husband heaped his gifts upon her.

"Perhaps he will not be so liberal with his presents in future,"
thought the malicious and disappointed woman, as she looked at Honoria,
and acknowledged to her own envious heart that never had she seen her
look more beautiful, more elegant, or more fitted to adorn the position
which Miss Graham would willingly have persuaded herself she disgraced.
"If he thinks that her love is bestowed upon another, he will scarcely
find such delight in future in offering her costly tributes of
affection."

There was a great deal of discussion as to who should occupy the
different carriages; but at last all was arranged apparently to every
one's satisfaction. There were many who had chosen to ride; and among
the equestrians was Sir Oswald himself.

For the first time in any excursion, the baronet deserted his
accustomed place by the side of his wife. Honoria deeply felt the
slight involved in this desertion; but she was too proud to entreat him
to alter his arrangements. She saw his favourite horse brought round to
the broad steps; she saw her husband mount the animal without a word of
remonstrance, without so much as a reproachful glance, though her heart
was swelling with passionate indignation. And then she took her place
in the barouche, and allowed the gentlemen standing near to assist in
the arrangement of the shawls and carriage-rugs, which were provided in
case of change of weather.

Sir Oswald was not slow to remark that appearance of indifference. When
once estrangement has arisen between those who truly love each other,
everything tends to widen the breach. The jealous husband had chosen to
separate himself from his wife in a sudden impulse of angry distrust;
but he was still more angry, still more distrustful, when he saw her
apparent carelessness of his desertion.

"She is happier without me," he thought, bitterly, as he drew his horse
on one side, and watched all that took place around the barouche.
"Unrestrained by my presence, she will be free to revel in the
flatteries of her younger admirers. She will be perfectly happy, for
she will forget for a while that she is chained for life to a husband
whom she does not love."

A silvery laugh from Honoria seemed to answer his thoughts, and to
confirm his suspicions. He little dreamed that laugh was assumed, in
order to deceive the malicious Lydia, who had just uttered a polite
little speech, intended to wound the mistress of Raynham.

The baronet kept his horse a little way behind the carriage, and
watched his wife with jealous and angry eyes.

Lydia Graham had taken her seat in the barouche, and there was now a
slight discussion as to the gentlemen who should accompany the two
ladies. Many were eager for the privilege, and the occasion was a
fitting one for the display of feminine coquetry. Miss Graham did not
neglect the opportunity; and after a little animated conversation
between the lady and a young fop who was heir to a peerage, the
lordling took his place opposite the fashionable beauty.

The second place still remained unoccupied. The baronet waited with
painful eagerness to see who would take this place, for amongst the
gentlemen grouped about the door of the carriage was Victor Carrington.

Sir Oswald had not to wait long. He ground his teeth in a sudden access
of jealous fury as he saw the young surgeon step lightly into the
vehicle, and seat himself opposite Lady Eversleigh. He took it for
granted that it was on that lady's invitation the young man occupied
this place of honour. He did not for a moment imagine that it was at
Lydia Graham's entreaty the surgeon had taken his seat in the barouche.
And yet it was so.

"Do come with us, Mr. Carrington," Lydia had said. "I know that you are
well versed in county history and archaeology, and will be able to tell
us all manner of interesting facts connected with the villages and
churches we pass on our road."

Lydia Graham hated Honoria for having won the proud position she
herself had tried so hard to attain; she hated Sir Oswald for having
chosen another in preference to herself; and she was determined to be
revenged on both. She knew that her hints had already had their effect
on the baronet; and she now sought, by every base and treacherous
trick, to render Honoria Eversleigh an object of suspicion in the eyes
of her husband. She had a double game to play; for she sought at once
to gratify her ambition and her thirst for revenge. On one hand she
wished to captivate Lord Sumner Howden; on the other she wanted to
widen the gulf between Sir Oswald and his wife.

She little knew that she was only playing into the hands of a deeper
and more accomplished schemer than herself. She little thought that
Victor Carrington's searching glance had penetrated the secrets of her
heart; and that he watched her malicious manoeuvres with a calm sense
of amusement.

Though August had already given place to September, the weather was
warm and balmy, as in the full glory of midsummer.

Sir Oswald rode behind Lady Eversleigh's barouche, too remote to hear
the words that were spoken by those who occupied the vehicle; but quite
near enough to distinguish the tones and the laughter, and to perceive
every gesture. He saw Victor bend forward to address Honoria. He saw
that deferential and devoted manner which had so much offended him
since he had first set himself to watch the surgeon. And Lady
Eversleigh did not discourage her admirer; she let him talk; she seemed
interested in his conversation; and as Lydia Graham and Lord Howden
were entirely occupied with each other, the conversation between
Honoria was a complete _tete-a-tete_. The young man's handsome head
bent lower and lower over the plumed hat of Lady Eversleigh; and with
every step of that ten-mile journey, the cloud that overshadowed the
baronet's mind grew more profound in its fatal gloom. He no longer
struggled against his doubts--he abandoned himself altogether to the
passion that held possession of him.