Kitabı oku: «Chetwynd Calverley», sayfa 22
XXIV. THE RACE BETWEEN ZEPHYRUS AND TOM TANKARD
About a mile in the rear of Sir Bridgnorth was Mrs. Calverley’s pony-carriage, driven by Laura, by whose side was Zephyrus, very smartly dressed indeed, and wearing a Paris hat, while in the groom’s place at the back, and looking very like a groom himself, sat Tom Tankard. Tom thought himself rather slighted by being placed in an inferior situation to the chef, but he was obliged to submit, or stay behind.
The first part of the drive was pleasant enough. Zephyrus was charmed with the carriage and the ponies, and declared the equipage was as pretty as any to be seen in the Bois de Boulogne. He was likewise enchanted with Mademoiselle Laura’s skill as a whip; and it was a gratification to him that Tom Tankard, of whom he entertained a secret jealousy, should be kept in the background.
But this latter circumstance, together with Laura’s evident preference for Zephyrus, vexed Tom, and made him ready to pick a quarrel with the Frenchman. He soon grew very sullen, and took no part in the conversation. But this they did not mind. They did not care for his company, and Laura only brought him because she didn’t like to drive out alone with the Frenchman.
Precisely the reverse of Tom, and full of life and spirit, Zephyrus had something amusing to say about everything. Laura was quite enchanted. Never before had she enjoyed so pleasant a drive. But then she had never before driven anybody except her mistress and the groom, and she didn’t condescend to talk to grooms.
When they reached the heath, Tom shook off his sulkiness, and surveying the scene, called out:
“Look here, monsieur; here’s a famous place for a steeple-chase!”
“A fine place, indeed!” observed Zephyrus. “I should say you could here have all the dangers you desire.”
“I wouldn’t advise you to try the heath, Mr. Tom,” observed Laura. “Sir Leycester Barfleur lost his life in that dreadful quagmire.”
“But a capital foot-race might be run on the hard turf,” said Tom. “How say you, monsieur? Shall we have a trial of speed? Half a mile for half a sov’rin’?”
“Shall I run, mademoiselle?” said Zephyrus.
Laura gave him a look, as much as to say, “By all means; you’ll beat him!”
“Agreed!” cried Zephyrus. “Mademoiselle Laura shall hold the stakes, and decide.”
So saying, he placed a small piece of gold in her hand, his example being followed by Tom.
“Our mark shall be yonder tree,” said Zephyrus, pointing to the shattered oak near which the ladies had been robbed by the gipsies.
“There and back?” asked Tom.
“There and back, of course,” replied Zephyrus.
“Before we start,” said Tom, “let it be clearly understood whoever wins is to sit beside Miss Laura.”
“Bon!” cried Zephyrus. “I shall be certain to occupy that envied place!”
“Not so certain,” rejoined Tom, with a knowing wink.
Ready in a minute, and in another minute off, at a signal from Laura, who had great difficulty in holding in the ponies when the start was made.
There seemed very little doubt that the Frenchman would win, for he was extremely agile, and ran far more lightly and fleetly than our fat friend Tom.
But it soon appeared that young Tankard intended some ruse, for he was still more than a hundred yards from the oak, and sixty or seventy behind Zephyrus, when he suddenly turned round, and ran back as fast as he could.
Zephyrus did not at first see what his opponent was about, but the moment he did, he likewise turned, and set off after young Tankard at such a pace that even then it seemed probable he would overtake him.
But by dint of extraordinary exertion, Tom managed to reach the pony-carriage in time to spring into the coveted seat beside Laura, just as the Frenchman came up.
“Come out, sir!” vociferated Zephyrus; “you’ve lost!”
“Lost the race – but won the seat!” rejoined Tom, with a triumphant laugh.
“Come out, I insist!” cried the Frenchman.
To prevent the conflict that seemed imminent, Laura interfered; but she could not induce Tom to surrender the seat, so she tried to pacify Zephyrus by giving him the stakes, adding that they should soon be at Brackley, where a change could be made quietly.
Matters being thus arranged, though by no means to Laura’s satisfaction, she drove on, and had just entered the park when Captain Danvers dashed through the lodge gate, and soon came up to them.
Apparently surprised at the sight of Laura, he stopped for a moment to speak to her.
“What are you doing here, Laura?” he inquired.
“My mistress allowed me to drive the pony-carriage to Brackley, captain,” she replied, rather quickly, for she didn’t like to be thus questioned; “and I brought these gentlemen with me.”
“But don’t you know your mistress is dangerously ill?” cried the captain.
“Not the least idea of it, I assure you, captain, or I shouldn’t be here!” cried Laura, looking dreadfully frightened. “But I’ll go back immediately.”
“I don’t think you’ll find her alive,” was the captain’s consolatory remark; “but you may be of some service.”
“What is it, sir?” cried Laura; “what is it?”
Captain Danvers, however, paid no attention to the inquiry, but dashed off as hard as he could to the Hall.
“It’s something terrible – I’m sure of it!” said Laura. “I feel ready to faint.”
“Change places, and I’ll drive you back,” said Tom. “It’s lucky I’m here.”
“I don’t know what I should have done without Mr. Tom,” said Laura, as she took his seat, and gave him the reins and whip. “Don’t lose any time.”
“I won’t, depend upon it,” rejoined Tom. “The ribbons are in good hands now they’re in mine. Take my advice, dear girl, and don’t make yourself uneasy till you get there. Time enough, then. All’s for the best, you see, monsieur. If you hadn’t given up that place, you’d ‘a been forced to give it up, since you can’t drive.”
“You’re mistaken, sir, I can drive – and very well, too,” rejoined Zephyrus.
“But not so well as me,” said Tom. “I’ll bring you to Ouselcroft in no time,” he added to Laura.
And he soon got the ponies into such a pace as they had never travelled before.
XXV. CAPTAIN DANVERS BRINGS DISTRESSING NEWS
Leaping from his steed in the court-yard of the old Hall, Captain Danvers inquired for Lady Thicknesse; and learning that she was with Lady Barfleur, in the drawing-room, he hastened thither, and found the two ladies in question, with Lord Courland, Sir Bridgnorth, and his brother Scrope.
His looks caused general consternation, since all could perceive from them that some direful calamity-had happened.
Lord Courland rushed up to him, and, taking his hand, said:
“You bring us bad news, I’m afraid, Captain Danvers?”
“I do, indeed, my lord,” he replied in a sorrowful tone; “very painful news.”
At these words, the whole party gathered round him.
“To whom does your bad news relate?” inquired Lady Thicknesse.
“Chiefly to Mrs. Calverley,” he replied.
“Great Heaven, my worst fears are realised!” exclaimed Lord Courland, in a voice of anguish and despair. “Does she still live?”
“Death would be a release in her present state!” replied Captain Danvers. “She has swallowed poison.”
“Poison!” echoed several voices.
“And I am the cause of this dreadful act!” cried Lord Courland.
“Calm yourself, my lord, I entreat you!” said Captain Danvers. “It is not exactly as you suppose. That love for you has led this unhappy lady into the commission of a dreadful act is certain; but the attempt at self-destruction, which no doubt will end fatally, has been made solely to escape the consequences of her crime.”
The whole assemblage listened in horror to what was said.
“I will not ask you for any farther explanation,” cried Lord Courland, “unless you feel justified in giving it to me. But you have made certain dark allusions that ought to be cleared up. You charge Mrs. Calverley, whom I love dearly in spite of all, with the commission of a dreadful crime, to which she was instigated by love for me. What has she done? Is it a secret?”
“No, my lord,” replied Captain Danvers, with great feeling. “It is perfectly well known at Ousel-croft. She has attempted to poison her step-daughter, Mildred.”
“But what was the motive?” demanded Lord Courland.
“To prevent Mildred from profiting by her father’s will. Had she died before the projected marriage, the property would have remained with Teresa.”
Lord Courland looked aghast.
“There is every reason to hope Mildred will recover,” pursued the captain. “Doctor Spencer is confident he can save her. He cannot save Mrs. Calverley, because remedial measures were too long delayed.”
A groan burst from Lord Courland.
“Pardon me, Lady Barfleur,” he said, turning to her, “if I quit you thus abruptly. I know you will excuse it under the circumstances. I shall return at once to Ouselcroft.”
“I will go with you,” said Scrope.
And they quitted the room together.
“I am quite as agitated and distressed as his lordship,” observed Lady Thicknesse. “You must take me back, Sir Bridgnorth.”
“I will order the horses at once,” he replied. “In a few minutes the phaeton shall be ready.”
And he departed on the errand.
“I grieve to leave thus, dearest sister,” said Lady Thicknesse. “But it cannot be helped.”
“I know it cannot,” Lady Barfleur replied. “Let me see you to-morrow. But nobody has told me how Emmeline is?”
“You needn’t be uneasy about her, dear aunt,” replied Captain Danvers. “Through all this anxiety and trouble, Emmeline has kept up most wonderfully. I saw Rose, her attendant, not much more than an hour ago, and she said her young mistress had scarcely suffered from a headache. And now, dear aunt, I must take a hasty leave. Like the rest, I shall return to Ouselcroft, to see the end of this sad business. Adieu!”
Shortly afterwards Sir Bridgnorth appeared at the door to give Lady Thicknesse notice that the phaeton was ready.
“It is fortunate you have got Sir Bridgnorth with you, sister,” observed Lady Barfleur. “He is one of the most sensible and most agreeable men I know.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, sister,” replied Lady Thicknesse. “He proposed as he drove me here this morning, and I accepted him.”
“Bless me! That is news!” cried Lady Barfleur. “Come here, dear Sir Bridgnorth,” she added, signing to him. “I must have a word with you. I have just heard something that has enchanted me. You are made for each other. Now don’t stop here a moment longer, but take her to the carriage. Goodbye!”
XXVI. TERESA’S CONFESSION
Alone with the dying Teresa. “Take comfort,” said the good chaplain, regarding her with tenderness and compassion. “Ease your breast by a full confession, and then, if your repentance is sincere, doubt not Heaven’s goodness and mercy. Our blessed Saviour will not desert you.”
On this, Teresa knelt down before him, and, though he strove to raise her, she would not quit the humble posture.
“Prepare yourself for a dreadful relation, reverend sir,” she said, clasping her hands. “I had the best and kindest of husbands, who studied my every wish, and strove in every way to make me happy. I persuaded him I was happy; but I deceived him. The yoke I had put on was unsupportable.
“An evil spirit seemed to have taken possession of my breast. I strove to dismiss the wicked thoughts that assailed me; but they came back again and again, and with greater force than before.
“I had not a fault to find with my husband – he was kindness itself. Yet I sought to get rid of him by poison. It was long before I could make up my mind to the dreadful act; but I was ever brooding upon it.
“At last I obtained the poison, minute doses of which would kill without exciting suspicion. But not till my husband was attacked by some slight illness did I administer the first dose.
“He grew worse. But it seemed only a natural increase of the malady, and the symptoms excited no suspicion whatever in his medical attendant, the progress of the poison being so slow and insidious. Moreover, I was constantly with my victim, and acted as his nurse.”
The good chaplain covered his face with his hands, and a short pause ensued, which was broken by Teresa.
“And now comes the astounding part of my narration,” she said. “I can scarcely credit my own hardness of heart. As I saw this kind and excellent man, who loved me so dearly, gradually wasting away – literally dying by inches – I felt no compunction – none! I counted the days he could live.”
Here there was another pause, and the guilty woman had to summon up resolution before she could proceed.
“To free myself from my marriage fetters was only part of my scheme,” she said. “My greedy spirit would not be content without my husband’s property, and this I felt certain I could secure. He doted upon me. I had obtained his entire confidence. I knew his inmost thoughts. He had quarrelled with his son. I aggravated the dispute, and took care to prevent a reconciliation, which could have been easily effected had I so desired it.
“My ascendancy over my infirm husband was now so great that he acted upon all my suggestions; and by hints cunningly thrown out, I easily induced him to make a will in my favour, persuading him I would carry out his wishes in regard to his son and daughter.”
“Did no suspicion cross him?” inquired the chaplain.
“Not till the last night of his life,” she replied. “But I think it did then. If he suspected me, he never taxed me with my guilt.”
At this moment a sudden change came over her, and she gazed strangely into the vacancy.
“What troubles you?” inquired the chaplain.
“I thought I saw my husband standing there!” she replied, with a shudder.
“‘Tis fancy. Proceed with your confession. You have more to tell?”
“I have,” she replied, with a fearful look. “The dark tragedy was over. Intoxicated by the power and wealth I had acquired, I contrived to stifle remorse. I kept Mildred constantly with me. Her presence seemed to shield me, and I sought to make some amends by befriending Chetwynd.
“But vengeance was pursuing me, though with slow feet. My punishment was accomplished in an unforeseen manner. Hitherto my heart had never known love, and I thought myself proof against the tender passion. But it was not so. I met Lord Courland at the house of Lady Thicknesse in London, and he at once won my affections and offered me his hand.
“Loving him, and thinking to bind him to me, I promised him half the large property I fancied at my disposal. All was arranged, and my destined husband had come down here to see his future abode, when almost at the last moment I discovered that if I married again the whole of the property would go to Mildred.
“This discovery roused all the evil passions in my heart, and I determined to remove her in the same manner I had removed her father.
“Provided with the means of executing my fell purpose, I did not delay it. You were present, reverend sir, when I dropped poison, unperceived, into her wine, and you may remember how soon it took effect?”
“I remember she was suddenly seized with illness after drinking a glass of champagne,” he replied, with a look of horror; “but I little thought the wine had been drugged – nor did any one.”
“She recovered,” pursued the guilty woman; “and all might have been well if I could have resisted the dreadful temptation to which I was subjected. But I yielded.
“Again I contrived to give her poison, and another seizure followed. Doctor Spencer was sent for. The symptoms could not be mistaken; the terrible crime was discovered, and quickly traced to me. The poison being found in my possession, my guilt was established.”
“It may comfort you to learn that Mildred will recover,” observed Mr. Massey. “The medicines given her by Doctor Spencer have produced a wonderful effect. At first I had little hope. But now I have every confidence that her life will be spared.”
“‘Tis well,” she replied. “But my doom is sealed. Doctor Spencer took away the phial containing the poison; but I had enough left for myself.”
“And you have done this desperate deed?” he asked.
“I could not live,” she replied. “I should go mad. But that Mildred will live is the greatest possible consolation to me. If I could see her, and obtain her forgiveness, I think I could die in peace. But I have not strength to go to her.”
“She is here,” said the chaplain.
The dying woman raised her eyes, and beheld Mildred standing before her, wrapped in a loose robe, and supported by Emmeline and Rose Hartley.
Behind them was Chetwynd, who closed the door after him as he came in.
Mildred’s countenance was exceedingly pale; but her eyes were bright, and her looks seemed almost angelic to the despairing Teresa, who crept humbly towards her.
“I do not deserve pardon,” said the penitent woman. “Yet for the sake of Him who died for us, and washed out our sins with His blood, I implore you to forgive me!”
“I do forgive you,” rejoined Mildred. “I have come hither for that purpose. May Heaven have mercy upon you!”
“Since your repentance is sincere, daughter,” said the chaplain, “may your sins be blotted out, and the guilt of your many offences be remitted.”
“Amen!” exclaimed Chetwynd.
“Then farewell!” said Teresa, in a faint voice. “Farewell, Emmeline! farewell, Chetwynd! Think not of me with abhorrence; but, if you can, with pity!”
Without a word more, she sank backwards, and expired.
Chetwynd caught her before she fell, and placed her on a couch.
All those who had witnessed her death had departed, except Mr. Massey, who was still in the room when Lord Courland entered.
On beholding the body, he uttered a frenzied cry, and rushed towards it.
“I would have given five years of my own life to exchange a few words with her ere she breathed her last!” he exclaimed, in a voice of bitterest anguish and self-reproach.
“You loved her, then, deeply, my lord?” said Chetwynd.
“She was the only woman I ever loved,” replied Lord Courland. “Farewell, Teresa!”
Bending down and kissing her brow, he quitted the room with Chetwynd.
XXVII. A MONTH LATER
A month must now be allowed to elapse.
During the interval, the dark clouds that hung over Ouselcroft have dispersed, and the place has once more assumed a pleasant aspect.
Unhappy Teresa will never again trouble those connected with her.
Mildred, we rejoice to say, under the care of Doctor Spencer, has entirely recovered, and looks more beautiful than ever. She is at Brackley with Emmeline, who has quite regained her spirits and good looks, both of which had suffered from her recent anxiety. Rose Hartley is still with them.
Master of Ouselcroft, Chetwynd has already won the hearts of his dependents. He looks somewhat older and much graver, and Norris says he discerns a likeness to his father that he never perceived before.
As to Norris himself, we need scarcely say he still holds the most important post in the household, and will continue to hold it as long as he is able to do so.
Chetwynd has two guests staying with him – Sir Bridgnorth Charlton and Captain Danvers – and they will remain at Ouselcroft till certain contemplated events come off.
Lady Thicknesse is at Brackley with Lady Barfleur, and means to stay there for a short time longer. She has engaged Laura, and is very well satisfied with her. The talkative lady’s-maid suits her exactly. Sir Bridgnorth drives out her ladyship daily in his phaeton, and they then discuss their future plans, but she has not yet seen Charlton, nor will she visit her future residence till she goes there as its mistress. She has every prospect of happiness with Sir Bridgnorth, who really devotes himself to her, and strives to anticipate all her wishes.
Charles Danvers and Mildred pass all their time together. At first, they contented themselves with the gardens of Brackley; but since Mildred has grown stronger, and is able to take equestrian exercise, they have begun to take long rides, and are seldom seen between luncheon and dinner. Captain Danvers considers himself a most fortunate man, and with good reason, for he will have a most lovely bride, and a very large fortune.
But what of Chetwynd? Ought he not to be esteemed fortunate? As far as wealth is concerned, he has far more than he ever dreamed of, and if he weds the heiress of Brackley, he will become one of the richest men in the county. But his chief wealth, in his own esteem, is in the prize he has won, and he looks forward eagerly to the day – now not very far distant, he hopes – when he shall make her his own.
Such is the present state of things at the two houses the inmates of which are constantly together, dining with each other daily, either at Ouselcroft or Brackley; but we shall, perhaps, learn more, by assisting at a confidential talk that took place one afternoon in the butler’s pantry at Ouselcroft, between old Norris and Laura.
“Well, Mr. Norris,” she said, “I am come to see how you are getting on. We are quiet enough just now, but we shall soon have plenty to do.”
“In what way?” asked the butler.
“In the matrimonial line,” replied Laura. “Three weddings will come off very shortly.”
“Are any of them fixed?” inquired Norris.
“Not that I am aware of,” replied the lady’s-maid; “but they cannot be long delayed. All depends upon Lady Thicknesse. When she names the day, the other two are sure to follow suit.”
“Her ladyship, I suppose, has positively accepted Sir Bridgnorth?” asked Norris.
“Positively,” replied Laura; “and a very good choice she has made, according to my notion. For my own part, I should prefer the old baronet to either of the young men.”
“Pooh, pooh! He won’t bear comparison with my young master. Of course, he’s very suitable to a middle-aged dame like Lady Thicknesse.”
“He’s very agreeable, I repeat, and I think my lady uncommonly lucky in securing him. I believe they’ve agreed to spend half the year in town, and the other half in the country. That’ll just suit me.”
“At any rate, they’ll have no lack of money,” said Norris. “But, after all, Lady Thicknesse is nothing like so rich as her niece – to say nothing of Brackley, which must come to the young lady by-and-by.”
“Yes; they’ll have too much,” observed Laura. “I wonder where Mr. Chetwynd and his lady will reside?”
“Why, here – at Ouselcroft – of course,” replied Norris.
“I don’t feel sure of that,” said Laura. “I sometimes fancy they’ll live at Brackley.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Norris. “Mr. Chetwynd will never leave his father’s house, now he has got possession of it. I’m certain of that.”
“Then Captain and Mrs. Danvers may as well take up their quarters at Brackley,” said Laura.
“You’re settling all very nicely!” said Norris, with a laugh. “But I don’t know that Lady Barfleur will consent to take them. I should think not. All very well as visitors, but not for a permanence.”
“Well, then, Mrs. Danvers must buy a place,” said Laura. “She’ll have money enough.”
Norris laughed; but, directly afterwards, his countenance changed, and he said, gravely:
“Ah, Laura! we live in a strange world. A month ago, who would have thought things would be in this state? Then we were talking over Mrs. Calverley’s contemplated marriage with Lord Courland. Now she is gone, and other weddings are about to take place.”
“Don’t mention the poor dear lady, Mr. Norris, if you wouldn’t make me cry,” said Laura, taking out her pocket-handkerchief. “She had dreadful faults, no doubt; but she was always very kind to me, and I will say this of her, she was the loveliest creature ever beheld.”
“She contrived to do a great deal of mischief in her time,” observed Norris.
“Granted,” rejoined Laura. “But you ought to feel some sorrow for her, seeing how very handsomely she behaved to you, Mr. Norris. I’m sure I feel very much obliged to her for my fifty pounds, though I wish it had been five thousand, like Lord Courland’s legacy.”
“Yes, that’s a good lumping sum,” observed Norris, “and will console his lordship for her loss.”
“I suppose he has got the money?” remarked Laura.
“Yes; the legacy has already been paid,” replied Norris.
“I thought it had,” said Laura. “But do tell me, Mr. Norris – is it true the poor lady has been seen since her death?”
“Clarissa declares she certainly beheld her the other evening in the dressing-room,” replied the butler.
“Dear me, how dreadful!” exclaimed Laura, “I should be frightened to death. Clarissa saw her in the dressing-room, you say. How was it? Do tell me!”
“Clarissa’s tale is this. She was in the poor lady’s bedchamber the other evening, just as it was growing dusk, when fancying she heard a sound in the dressing-room, she opened the door, which was standing ajar, and then beheld an apparition exactly resembling Mrs. Calverley, and holding a small phial, at which the figure was looking. So scared was Clarissa at the sight, that she could neither cry out nor stir till the apparition turned its head and fixed its eyes upon her. Their expression was so terrible that she rushed back, and fell senseless on the bedchamber floor. This is the account she gives, and most of the women-servants believe it, but I regard it as mere fancy.”
“I believe it, Mr. Norris,” replied Laura, shuddering. “I once saw Mrs. Calverley myself in the dressing-room, in the exact posture you describe her, with a little phial in her hand, containing eau de luce, she said, but I am now sure it was poison. I shall never forget the look she gave me. Depend upon it, Clarissa has seen her spirit.”
“May be so,” observed Norris.
“The poor thing can’t rest, and I don’t wonder at it,” observed Laura. “I suppose these rooms will be shut up, Mr. Norris?”
“Nobody has slept there since the poor lady’s death,” he replied; “but I can’t say about shutting up the rooms.”
“I wouldn’t sleep there for the world,” remarked Laura. “Indeed, after this occurrence, I don’t think I shall ever venture into the dressing-room again. I should always expect to find her there.”
Just then a bell was rung, and Norris instantly prepared to answer the summons.
“My young master wants to see me before he sets out for Brackley,” he said. “Stay where you are for a few minutes. I may have something to tell you.”
When Norris reappeared, he had a very joyful expression of countenance.
“I can tell you something you don’t know, Laura,” he said – “something about Lady Thicknesse.”
“I know what it is. The wedding-day is fixed.”
“Right!”
“When is it to be?” she exclaimed, eagerly.
“This day week,” replied the butler.
“Then her ladyship will get the start of the others,” said Laura.
“I’m not sure of that,” replied Norris, significantly. “I can’t tell you any more now. All I know is, my young master and Captain Danvers have just ridden off to Brackley.”
