Vellenaux Part 4

"Well, then, gentlemen," resumed that worthy functionary, "it appears that this morning, on the elephants being brought up to carry the mess and Hospital Tents, one of the number was found to be missing, and the Muccadem declared that it was useless to attempt to put anything extra on the others, for that they would not stir a peg if so overloaded. I did not know what to do in this dilemma; the tents could not be left behind, so I sent for Fortescue, who was in charge of the Government cattle, to ask his advice. In a few minutes he came cantering up. I explained matters. The elephant cannot be far off." At this moment a Muccadem came running up to say that the animal was in the jungle, about a quarter of a mile off, but was refractory and would not budge an inch in the direction of the camp.

"Divide his load among the other four," said Fortescue.

"But they will not carry it, sir," replied the native Inspector.

"I know that as well as you can tell me, but do as I order you."

The Inspector salammed and obeyed, but the animals would not move. "Now take off the load from two and give them a couple of tether chains."

This was done, the loads removed, and a long chain, used for camp purposes given to each, who caught them up with their trunks and seemed to know exactly what they were expected to do with them. They were then led into the jungle where the other one was said to be.

"You will see some fun presently," said Fortescue, and he was right, for in a very short time the refractory animal was seen coming into camp at the top of his speed, shrieking and crying, closely followed by the other two, who were thras.h.i.+ng him soundly with the chains that had been given to them for that purpose. There is no doubt they gave him to understand that they did not intend to carry his load for him.

I have heard elephant stories before, but it was most ridiculously absurd to see that great mountain of flesh crying like a whipped child, go down on his knees and quietly receive his burden without any attempt to hurt or molest his keeper.

All the baggage was by this time off the ground; the regiment got the order to advance, which they did with right good will, for both officers and men of the Light Dragoons were equally satisfied to find themselves once more approaching their comfortable quarters in Karricabad.

CHAPTER VI.

Smiling Spring, with her ever-changing episode of suns.h.i.+ne and tears, had twice come and gone. The gorgeous fields of golden grain had for a second time bent their heads beneath the harvest side, and the autumnal tints of every hue and shade had again fallen on the rich foliage of the magnificent old woods of Devon, while the whirr of the pheasant in the preserves, and the popping at the partridges among the turnips, indicated that the shooting season had once more commenced over the broad lands around Vellenaux.

Things wore much the same aspect as they had done on Arthur's return from College and prior to his departure for the sunny plains of Hindostan some eighteen months since. Sir Jasper was apparently hale and hearty. Edith had finished her education, on which her uncle had spared no expense, for masters and professors had been procured from London to superintend her studies. She was perfectly happy, occasionally receiving letters from Arthur, which always afforded her much pleasure to peruse and think over, and frequently would she detect herself gazing upon his photograph in the pretty little locket he had sent her from Oxford by Tom Barton, and which, since his departure, she constantly wore.

Ralph Coleman's visits had become more frequent of late; this at first did not attract Edith's notice. She had never been prepossessed in his favour, but as her uncle's kinsman, and being heir to the Baronetcy, her deportment to him had ever been polite and affable, but subsequently his attentions became so marked that they aroused her to a sense of his real meaning. Yet she could scarcely bring herself to believe that such was really the case, and but for the delicate hints and inuendos that occasionally fell from the double dealing widow, she would, there is no doubt, have remained for a much longer time unconvinced of his intentions towards her. However, time was pa.s.sing on and Ralph made up his mind to bring matters to the point. One lovely afternoon, as he was entering the conservatory, he espied the fluttering of a woman's dress among the shrubs and flowers, and on coming nearer, though still at some little distance, perceived a lady walking slowly and as if in deep thought. Feeling quite certain that it was no other than the one he was in quest of, and thanking the fates for giving him the long wished for opportunity, he advanced more quickly and was soon beside Edith (for she it proved to be) before she was aware that any one was near. Turning, with something of a surprised look on her lovely face, she exclaimed, "Oh, how you startled me. I thought you were on the way to London. I am quite amazed to find you here."

"I hope my presence is not distasteful to you," he said, gently, at the same time lifting his hat and bowing low before her. He really cared nothing for the beautiful girl at his side, for he was thoroughly selfish; nor did he care by what means or how low he had to stoop to gain possession of the object wished for.

Edith, knowing her own feelings, and not wis.h.i.+ng to say aught to hurt or offend him more than was actually necessary, scarcely knew how to answer him, disliking him as she did. Still she had nothing to complain of, for he had ever paid her the most marked respect. Before she could frame her answer he spoke again, "Edith, I have for some time been wis.h.i.+ng to speak to you on a subject very near my heart. I love you dearly and have long done so, will you be my wife, or, at least, give me some hope that my suit may be acceptable at some future time? only give me one encouraging smile, one ray of hope, and I will drudge on patiently until you bid me come to you."

"Oh no," Edith replied, "you must not wait, you must not hope, I can never be yours. Go, leave me." Before she had well finished, Ralph Coleman had seized her little white hands in his strong grasp, and said in a deep, hoa.r.s.e voice, "Edith, I ask you again will you be mine?"

Surprise, astonishment, and a feeling very like indignation took possession of Edith.

"Mr. Ralph Coleman," she said, "before I answer any more questions, release my hands." As he did so she raised her head proudly, and turning towards him with a heightened color, said, "I have already told you that I cannot love you, and am surprised that it is not sufficient. I thank you for the honor you intended, but beg that you will never mention this subject to me again."

As these words fell upon his ear, Ralph Coleman's face changed and darkened visibly, an evil light came into his eyes, and an ugly frown contracted his brow, then, with a smile, whose meaning could not be mistaken, he said:

"Take care, proud girl, I have sworn that you shall be mine, and by the Heavens above us, I intend to keep my vow, and neither man nor devil shall turn me from my purpose!"

Edith's eyes flashed, her beautiful lips curled in scorn, and her whole face beamed with intense disgust, and with a voice low and deep she said,

"Have a care, sir, beware how you threaten the niece of Sir Jasper Coleman. Before to-morrow my uncle shall be made acquainted with what has just pa.s.sed, and the character of the man who has partaken so often of his hospitality, and been ever treated with kind attention, he has yet to learn how these courtesies have been returned," and sweeping past him with a look of supreme contempt, Edith was about to pa.s.s on.

It was evident that he had gone too far and that she was not a girl to be intimidated by anything that he might say, and at once changed his tactics--for he was an excellent actor--"Pardon me, Miss Effingham, I know not what I am saying, I am mad. Yes, lady, mad! for your beauty like the moon, makes all men mad, who comes within the sphere of its attraction. Forgive me for thus offending you." Edith turned towards him, and with calm dignity replied, "Promise me never again to revert to this subject, and in no way further molest me, and what has just pa.s.sed shall be forgiven." He gave the required promise. Edith then pursued her way to the end of the conservatory, pa.s.sed through the doorway, and on to the terrace where she was met by her Uncle. He observed her heightened color, but as she made no complaint he allowed it to pa.s.s without comment.

Ralph Coleman stood for a few moments irresolute. She must, he thought, either be aware that her uncle has left her sole heiress, or else is in love with another, Carlton perhaps. Fool that I was to run so great a risk, and that, at the instigation of that scheming woman. Should she say aught to her uncle on this matter, it would ruin me with him. I will at once seek an interview and endeavour to wheedle him out of a promise to make a codicil in my favor.

Failing in the attempt to secure the hand of the beautiful Miss Effingham, and not daring to risk another trial, as it might spoil the plans he had been contemplating since Edith's dismissal of him, he had kept shy of that young lady during the remainder of his stay, and prior to his departure for London, he had contrived to have a long interview with the Baronet, during which he very ably showed the position that he would hold should the Baronetcy eventually descend to him who was totally unable to support the dignity of the rank that would thus be thrust upon him. So well and ably did he argue this point, that ere he left Vellenaux he extorted a sort of promise from Sir Jasper that he would think the matter over and make a bequest in his favor.

He returned to his office, in deed court, annoyed and disheartened to a considerable extent by the failure of his designs as far as related to Miss Effingham, but his wounded vanity he could afford to bear and hide within his own breast, as he now confidently believed that Sir Jasper would adopt the suggestions he had made to him, and settle, at least, two or three thousand per annum on the successor to the Baronetcy during the said successor's life; and in this frame of mind the Lawyer determined to de vote himself entirely to his profession, and to avoid the pretty Edith, Mrs. Fraudhurst, and Vellenaux, until the present owner should have been gathered to his fathers.

There is perhaps no season of the year in the South of England so pleasing to the eye or more genial to the corporeal faculties than that of early autumn, especially that part of Devons.h.i.+re which we have selected for the opening and closing scene of our story. Vellenaux, with its varied and picturesque styles of architecture, embosomed, as it were, in rich woodlands, with a perfect amphitheatre of hills on three sides, and ever and anon the soft breezes of the ocean sweeping over the downs, and through the beech woods on the other. It was, indeed, a domain of which any one might have been proud.

It was a lovely evening, the sun had just commenced to dip behind the crest of the adjacent hills, and was sending its golden rays through the bright foliage of the trees and down the long paths that led to the woods hard by. Edith had strolled, book in hand, to her favourite knoll, beneath a stately elm, and was engaged in reading. Her two favourite dogs, fine specimens of the Italian greyhound, chased each other in circles which gradually grew smaller until it brought them to the very feet of their mistress. One placed his small smooth nose in the little white hand that was thrown carelessly on the moss grown roots beside her, while the other, to attract her attention, placed his paw on the page she was reading and looked up in her face. Suddenly their ears elongated and away they bounded, as the noise of horses hoofs were heard approaching in her direction, aroused her from her rec.u.mbent position, as Julia Barton, on her quiet little pony, trotted up. She was off in an instant, and running up to her friend, greeted her in the animated, lively way, as was her custom when she had anything to communicate that she thought would please or interest her. "At your studies," she said, taking up the volume that Edith had let fall on her appearance. "Long engagements, a tale of the Affghan war. Oh, oh, thinking of our old playfellow are we?" and the merry girl laughed heartily, "we shall soon hear more of him, for my sister-in-law, Pauline, has just most unexpectedly arrived, and I wish you to know her. She is very charming and improves wonderfully on acquaintance, is very good-natured, and tells such funny stories about the people she lived among, and has a great deal to say about Arthur Carlton. You will come to the Willows to-morrow, will you not, and call on her?" Edith gave the required a.s.sent, and Julia, mounting her pony, cantered down the avenue to the lodge gate, where she was joined by a tall, gentlemanly looking man, mounted on a small bay mare, and the two walked their horses at an easy pace down the green lane in the direction of the Willows, and Edith returned to the house in time to dress for dinner, well pleased with the prospect of hearing something of him who was scarcely absent from her thoughts for any great length of time. She did not attempt to a.n.a.lyze her feelings on the subject. It was pleasant to think of her absent friend, and that was sufficient for the present.

Mr. Barton, Sen., or old Mr. Barton as he was usually styled, for he was upwards of eighty years of age, and had been born in the house he now occupied, a good comfortable and substantial, but old fas.h.i.+oned dwelling, which had pa.s.sed from father to son for several generations.

His father had been what is termed a gentleman farmer, and attended personally to the superintending of his acres. His son, the present occupant, had followed his example. He married early in life, but the lady of his choice died young, leaving one son to remind the sorrowing widower of his loss. This was Horace Barton, whom we have already introduced; he chose a different field for his labors, and managed to secure, while yet young, on appointment in India. Our friend Tom and his two sisters, Julia and Emily, were the result of a second marriage, and although there was every comfort to be had, and a good home for all during the life of the old couple, yet it was absolutely necessary that Tom should make his own road through life, and that the girls should, by early marriage, secure for themselves suitable establishments, as the Willows would fall to Horace on the death of his father, and it would not be many years before his term of service in the East would expire, and he would then, doubtless, return to England and occupy the old house in Devons.h.i.+re.

The arrival of Mrs. Horace Barton from Calcutta had been quite unexpected at the Willows, as no preparatory letter had announced her intentions or arrival in England. Nevertheless she found all delighted to receive her. She had spent the most of her visit to Europe in the gay capitals of Paris and London, and a couple of months was all the time she could spare to remain in Devons.h.i.+re.

On her first visit she had not been introduced to Miss Effingham, and had only caught a casual glance at her while crossing the lawn, as Edith was returning from a visit to Julia Barton; but on this occasion was determined to become acquainted with her, and find out if she really deserved the high encomiums that had been bestowed upon her by Arthur Carlton. She had antic.i.p.ated seeing a pretty lively English country girl, but was totally unprepared for the brilliant beauty and perfectly self-possessed manners of Edith, and she always found an attentive listener in her to all she had to relate on the subject of India and Arthur Carlton whenever they met, which was now frequent, for an introduction had taken place between them very shortly after her arrival, and they consequently became on the most intimate and friendly footing. The magnificence of the ancestral dwelling of the Colemans, with its Parks, Parterres and grounds, was quite a novelty to Pauline Barton, and with Edith she traversed the long corridors, picture galleries, and armories with wonderment, for they contrasted strangely with the PaG.o.das, Temples, and Bungalows in the country where the greater part of her life had been spent (for she had been born there), and she thought that Edith's life must be one of never-ending delight, and for a time it was so, but a sad change was about to come over the bright spirit of her dream of happiness for a time, and perhaps for ever, and dash the cup of joyous light-heartedness from her grasp.

The event so much desired by the man of law took place at a much earlier date than had been antic.i.p.ated by that gentleman, or, indeed, by any one of his acquaintances as the sequel will show.

"Reynolds," said the Baronet, one evening after dinner, some few weeks after his interview with his worthy cousin, the heir to the t.i.tle, "place candles in my study, and you need not wait up for me. It is likely that I shall sit writing to a late hour." The old servant bowed, and retired to do the bidding of his master.

After affectionately wis.h.i.+ng his niece good-night, and a pa.s.sing remark to Mrs. Fraudhurst, Sir Jasper entered his study, closing the door quietly behind him.

For a considerable time he paced the room, with his hands crossed behind his back, as was his custom when in a meditative mood. Finally, seating himself at his escritoire, he placed the ma.s.sive silver candlesticks, with their wax lights, in such a position that the glow would not effect his sight, and arranged his materials for writing to suit him. For a few moments he leaned back in his chair, then selecting a small key from a bunch he always carried, unlocked the centre drawer which contained only a few memorandums and drew it completely out. He next touched a small spring at the side, when a panel of the back slid open, disclosing an aperture from which he took the packet he had brought from London the evening previous to the opening of our story. This was the will and testament of Sir Jasper Coleman, in which he had left his niece, Edith Effingham, sole heiress of all he possessed, with the exception of a gratuity of five thousand pounds to be paid to his _protege_, Arthur Carlton, within six months after his (the Baronet's) decease, and to be free from all legacy or other duties. Having re-read the doc.u.ment, he laid it on the table beside him and then commenced writing.

Sir Jasper had thus acted without the knowledge of his lawyer, the man with whom he had consulted on every other matter since his succession to the Baronetcy, consequently that gentleman was in ignorance of any such will being in existence. It had been drawn by a competent lawyer residing in one of the suburbs of London, and had been properly witnessed, and was, in every particular, a regular, complete doc.u.ment.

The parties present on the occasion knew nothing of Sir Jasper, had never heard of Vellenaux or its owner, and in all probability would never hear of him again, as there was no likelihood of the will being contested. Why he had acted in this manner is hard to say.

The Baronet had finished his letter, and was again musing, and muttering to himself, "Ralph Coleman, you are an unprincipled man. Do you think your attempt to coerce my darling niece to listen to your suit has escaped me. You have failed in that quarter and now come to me to a.s.sist you. Well, well as she is safe I can afford to forgive you, and let you have a couple of thousand a year, to enable you to support yourself like a gentleman when the t.i.tle descends to you." Here the Baronet resumed his pen and commenced the writing of a codicil in behalf of his cousin, Ralph Coleman.

Perfect tranquility reigned throughout the house, all, with the exception of Sir Jasper, had retired to rest, and there was no sound, save the ticking of the old-fas.h.i.+oned time-piece, with its monotonous and never varying tick, tick, and the scratching noise made by the quill as it traced its inky characters on the yet incomplete codicil the Baronet was preparing. The candles had burned low in their sockets, and the fire on the hearth had died out unheeded by him who sat writing line after line. Suddenly a spasm seized him. He, with great difficulty, raised himself from the stooping position over the escritoire, but as he did so, another spasm, more violent than the first, attacked him. He tried to call for a.s.sistance, but his tongue clove to his mouth. He was suffocating. He stretched his arm towards the silver bell, which stood on the table, but it was beyond his reach. His head sank on the cus.h.i.+on of the chair. His eyes closed, another convulsive start, and all was over. Sir Jasper Coleman was no more.

For many months past it was customary whenever it was known that Sir Jasper would sit up late, for Mrs. Fraudhurst, on pa.s.sing the door of his chamber before descending to the breakfast room, to tap and enquire whether the Baronet would come down to his breakfast or have it sent up to him. On the following morning the widow on stopping at the chamber door discovered that it was ajar, and on pus.h.i.+ng it gently open found the room was vacant, the bed undisturbed and, it was quite evident from its general appearance, that Sir Jasper could not have pa.s.sed the night--or any part of it--there. Though startled a little at first, Mrs.

Fraudhurst was not long in coming to a conclusion as to what really had happened during the night. It had more than once occurred to her active mind that such might be the manner in which the Baronet's life would terminate. "And the hour I so feared may have come at last," thought she, as the consequences that might accrue to herself, should such turn out to be the case, rose up before her; but she was equal to the emergency; quickly and noiselessly she descended to the private library and, without rapping, entered, closing the door quietly after her.

The morning sun streamed through the stained gla.s.s windows, casting their brilliant hues full on the face of the corpse, rendering the pale features more ghastly to look on than the convulsions had left them.

Mrs. Fraudhurst was a woman of strong mind, but no feeling, and the presence of death had no terrors for her. She had entered, prepared in her own mind for the spectacle that now presented itself. Her plans had been already arranged, but she had hardly counted on their being so easily executed. With a firm hand she took up the will and unfinished codicil, folded them, and placed them carefully in the bosom of her dress. She now took up the bunch of keys, and replacing the centre drawer, locked it and dropped the bunch of keys into one of the pockets of Sir Jasper's dressing gown, and finding that the open letter related to general business connected with the estate and some charitable inst.i.tution, left them as she found them, and without one look of pity or regret on her now flushed face towards him to whose liberality she had for years been indebted for a home, with all the comforts and conveniences of life, left the apartment and regained her own chamber without meeting or being seen by any one. Her first act was to securely lock up the papers so feloniously obtained, then, applying cold water to her heated brow, to wait for the ringing of the second bell for breakfast. She could hear the voice of Edith, as her laugh rang out upon the lawn beneath her open window, at the gambols of the two greyhounds.

"Reynolds, ascertain whether Sir Jasper will have his breakfast sent up to him," said Mrs. Fraudhurst, as she and, Edith took their seats at the table, some twenty minutes later.

Edith did not speak, but waited patiently to know if her uncle would come down. There had been a growing coolness between her and the lady who headed the table. She could not but think that there was some complicity between her and Ralph Coleman with respect to herself. She could not tell why this should be, but could not divest herself of the idea, nevertheless.

"My master is not in his own room, and has not slept in his bed,"

hurriedly exclaimed Reynolds, re-entering the breakfast room. Edith started up, visibly agitated, but not so with the widow, she coolly said, "you had better look in at the library, he was writing there late last night and may probably have thrown himself on the lounge, and fallen asleep there."

"I will go with you," Edith said to the old servant, as she proceeded a little in advance of him.

Mrs. Fraudhurst sat staring blankly out of the window waiting for the result, which she knew must ensue. A loud shriek from Edith rang through the house, and breathless with excitement, Reynolds entered and announced Sir Jasper's death and that Miss Effingham had fainted.

The time for action had now arrived. "He may be only in a fit," said Mrs. Fraudhurst. "I will myself drive over for Dr. Martin. Call Miss Effingham's maid and let her be carried to her own room and properly attended to. I will return with all speed; in the meantime, Reynolds, be sure that no one enters the room. You had better lock the door and take possession of the key as soon as Miss Edith has been removed." After quickly dressing, she proceeded towards the stables to hurry forward the harnessing of the pony phaeton, which was at all times at her disposal, and drove rapidly to the house of Dr. Martin, though she well knew his services would be of no avail, but it was a part of the plan she had matured, and was now carrying out.