Elster's Folly - Mrs. Henry Wood (top android ebook reader .TXT) 📗

To

Switzerland," Continued Hedges,  Improvising The Journey,  "And So Coming

Back Through Germany; And There _Was_ A Talk Of Their Making Italy Before

The Heat Came On,  And Stopping There. Any Way,  Sir,  I Dare Say They Are

Already Away From Paris."

 

The Stranger Regarded Hedges Attentively,  Rather To The Discomfiture Of

That Functionary,  Who Thought He Was Doubted. He Then Asked A Great Many

Questions,  Some About Lord Hartledon's Personal Habits,  Some About Lady

Maude: The Butler Answered Them Freely Or Cautiously,  As He Thought He

Might,  Feeling Inclined All The While To Chase The Intruder Off The

Premises. Presently He Turned His Attention On The House.

 

"A Fine Old Place,  This,  Mr. Butler."

 

"Yes,  Sir."

 

"I Suppose I Could Look Over It,  If I Wished?"

 

Hedges Hesitated. He Was Privately Asking Himself Whether The Law Would

Allow The Stranger,  If He Had Come After Any Debt Of Lord Hartledon's,  To

Refuse To Leave The House,  Once He Got Into It.

 

"I Could Ask Lady Kirton,  Sir,  If You Particularly Wished It."

 

"Lady Kirton? You Have Some One In The House,  Then!"

 

"The Dowager Lady Kirton's Here,  Sir. One Of Her Sons Also--Captain

Kirton; But He Is Confined To His Room."

 

"Then I Would Rather Not Go In," Said The Stranger Quickly. "I'm Very

Disappointed To Have Come All This Way And Not Find Lord Hartledon."

 

"Can I Forward Any Letter For You,  Sir? If You'd Like To Intrust One To

Me,  I'll Send It As Soon As We Know Of Any Certain Address."

 

"No--No,  I Think Not," Said The Stranger,  Musingly. "There Might Be

Danger," He Muttered To Himself,  But Hedges Caught The Words.

 

He Stood Swaying The Umbrella-Handle About,  Looking Down At It,  As If

That Would Assist His Decision. Then He Looked At Hedges.

 

"My Business With Lord Hartledon Is Quite Private,  And I Would Rather Not

Write. I'll Wait Until He Is Back In England: And See Him Then."

 

"What Name,  Sir?" Asked Hedges,  As The Stranger Turned Away.

 

"I Would Prefer Not To Leave My Name," Was The Candid Answer. "Good

Evening."

 

He Walked Briskly Down The Avenue,  And Hedges Stood Looking After Him,

Slightly Puzzled In His Mind.

 

"I Don't Believe It's A Creditor; That I Don't. He Looks Like A Parson To

Me. But It's Some Trouble Though,  If It's Not Debt. 'Danger' Was The

Word: 'There Might Be Danger.' Danger In Writing,  He Meant. Any Way,  I'm

Glad He Didn't Go In To That Ferreting Old Dowager. And Whatever It May

Be,  His Lordship's Able To Pay It Now."

Chapter 18 (A Chance Meeting)

Some Few Weeks Went By. On A Fine June Morning Lord And Lady Hartledon

Were Breakfasting At Their Hotel In The Rue Rivoli. She Was Listlessly

Playing With Her Cup; He Was Glancing Over _Galignani's_.

 

"Maude," He Suddenly Exclaimed,  "The Fountains Are To Play On Sunday At

Versailles. Will You Go To See Them?"

 

"I Am Tired Of Sight-Seeing,  And Tired Of Paris Too," Was Lady

Hartledon's Answer,  Spoken With Apathy.

 

"Are You?" He Returned,  With Animation,  As Though Not Sorry To Hear The

Avowal. "Then We Won't Stay In Paris Any Longer. When Shall We Leave?"

 

"Are The Letters Not Late This Morning?" She Asked,  Allowing The Question

To Pass.

 

Lord Hartledon Glanced At The Clock. "Very Late: And We Are Late Also.

Are You Expecting Any In Particular?"

 

"I Don't Know. This Chocolate Is Cold."

 

"That Is Easily Remedied," Said He,  Rising To Ring The Bell. "They Can

Bring In Some Fresh."

 

"And Keep Us Waiting Half-An-Hour!" She Grumbled.

 

"The Hotel Is Crammed Up To The Mansarde," Said Good-Natured Lord

Hartledon,  Who Was Easily Pleased,  And Rather Tolerant Of Neglect In

French Hotels. "Is Not That The Right Word,  Maude? You Took Me To Task

Yesterday For Saying Garret. The Servants Are Run Off Their Legs."

 

"Then The Hotel Should Keep More Servants. I Am Quite Sick Of Having To

Ring Twice. A Week Ago I Wished I Was Out Of The Place."

 

"My Dear Maude,  Why Did You Not Say So? If You'd Like To Go On At Once To

Germany--"

 

"Lettres Et Journal Pour Monsieur," Interrupted A Waiter,  Entering With

Two Letters And The _Times_.

 

"One For You,  Maude," Handing A Letter To His Wife. "Don't Go," He

Continued To The Waiter; "We Want Some More Chocolate; This Is Cold. Tell

Him In French,  Maude."

 

But Lady Hartledon Did Not Hear; Or If She Heard,  Did Not Heed; She Was

Already Absorbed In The Contents Of Her Letter.

 

"Ici," Said Hartledon,  Pushing The Chocolate-Pot Towards The Man,  And

Rallying The Best French He Could Command,  "Encore Du Chocolat. Toute

Froide,  _This_. Et Puis Depechez Vous; Il Est Tarde,  Et Nous Avons Besoin

De Sortir."

 

The Man Was Accustomed To The French Of Englishmen,  And Withdrew Without

Moving A Muscle Of His Face. But Lady Hartledon's Ears Had Been Set On

Edge.

 

"_Don't_ Attempt French Again,  Val. They'll Understand You If You Speak

In English."

 

"Did I Make Any Mistake?" He Asked Good-Humouredly. "I Could Speak French

Once; But Am Out Of Practice. It's The Genders Bother One."

 

"Fine French It Must Have Been!" Thought Her Ladyship. "Who Is Your

Letter From?"

 

"My Bankers,  I Think. About Germany,  Maude--Would You Like To Go There?"

 

"Yes. Later. After We Have Been To London."

 

"To London!"

 

"We Will Go To London At Once,  Percival; Stay There For The Rest Of The

Season,  And Then--"

 

"My Dear," He Interrupted,  His Face Overcast,  "The Season Is Nearly Over.

It Will Be Of No Use Going There Now."

 

"Plenty Of Use. We Shall Have Quite Six Weeks Of It. Don't Look Cross,

Val; I Have Set My Heart Upon It."

 

"But Have You Considered The Difficulties? In The First Place,  We Have No

House In Town; In The Second--"

 

"Oh Yes We Have: A Very Good House."

 

Lord Hartledon Paused,  And Looked At Her; He Thought She Was Joking.

"Where Is It?" He Asked In Merry Tones; "At The Top Of The Monument?"

 

"It Is In Piccadilly," She Coolly Replied. "Do You Remember,  Some Days

Ago,  I Read Out An Advertisement Of A House That Was To Be Let There For

The Remainder Of The Season,  And Remarked That It Would Suit Us?"

 

"That It Might Suit Us,  Had We Wanted One," Put In Val.

 

"I Wrote Off At Once To Mamma,  And Begged Her To See After It And Engage

It For Us," She Continued,  Disregarding Her Husband's Amendment. "She Now

Tells Me She Has Done So,  And Ordered Servants Up From Hartledon. By The

Time This Letter Reaches Me She Says It Will Be In Readiness."

 

Lord Hartledon In His Astonishment Could Scarcely Find Words To Reply.

"You Wrote--Yourself--And Ordered The House To Be Taken?"

 

"Yes. You Are Difficult To Convince,  Val."

 

"Then I Think It Was Your Duty To Have First Consulted Me,  Lady Maude,"

He Said,  Feeling Deeply Mortified.

 

"Thank You," She Laughed. "I Have Not Been Lady Maude This Two Months."

 

"I Beg Your Pardon,  Lady Hartledon."

 

"Now Don't Pretend To Be Offended,  Val. I Have Only Saved You Trouble."

 

"Maude," He Said,  Rallying His Good Humour,  "It Was Not Right. Let

Us--For Heaven's Sake Let Us Begin As We Mean To Go On: Our Interests

Must Be _One_,  Not Separate. Why Did You Not Tell Me You Wished To Return

To London,  And Allow Me To See After An Abode For Us? It Would Have Been

The Proper Way."

 

"Well,  The Truth Is,  I Saw You Did Not Want To Go; You Kept Holding Back

From It; And If I _Had_ Spoken You Would Have Shillyshallied Over It

Until The Season Was Over. Every One I Know Is In London Now."

 

The Waiter Entered With The Fresh Chocolate,  And Retired Again. Lord

Hartledon Was Standing At The Window Then. His Wife Went Up To Him,  And

Stole Her Hand Within His Arm.

 

"I'm Sorry If I Have Offended You,  Val. It's No Great Matter To Have

Done."

 

"I Think It Was,  Maude. However--Don't Act For Yourself In Future; Let Me

Know Your Wishes. I Do Not Think You Have Expressed A Wish,  Or Half A

Wish,  Since Our Marriage,  But I Have Felt A Pleasure In Gratifying It."

 

"You Good Old Fellow! But I Am Given To Having A Will Of My Own,  And To

Act Independently. I'm Like Mamma In That. Val,  We Will Start To-Morrow:

Have You Any Orders For The Servants? I Can Transmit Them Through Mamma."

 

"I Have No Orders. This Is Your Expedition,  Maude,  Not Mine; And,  I

Assure You,  I Feel Like A Man In Utter Darkness In Regard To It. Allow

Me To See Your Mother's Letter."

 

Lady Hartledon Had Put The Letter Safely Into Her Pocket.

 

"I Would Rather Not,  Percival: It Contains A Few Private Words To Myself,

And Mamma Has Always An Objection To Her Letters Being Shown. I'll Read

You All Necessary Particulars. You Must Let Me Have Some Money To-Day."

 

"How Much?" Asked He,  From Between His Compressed Lips.

 

"Oceans. I Owe For Millinery And Things. And,  Val,  I'll Go To Versailles

This Afternoon,  If You Like. I Want To See Some Of The Rooms Again."

 

"Very Well," He Answered.

 

She Poured Out Some Chocolate,  Took It Hurriedly,  And Quitted The Room,

Leaving Her Husband In A Disheartening Reverie. That Lady Hartledon And

Maude Kirton Were Two Very Distinct Persons He Had Discovered Already;

The One Had Been All Gentleness And Childlike Suavity,  The Other Was

Positive,  Extravagant,  And Self-Willed; The One Had Made A Pretence Of

Loving Him Beyond All Other Things In Life,  The Other Was Making Very

Little Show Of Loving Him At All,  Or Of Concealing Her Indifference.

Lord Hartledon Was Not The Only Husband Who Has Been Disagreeably

Astonished By A Similar Metamorphosis.

 

The Following Was The Letter Of The Countess-Dowager:

 

  "Darling Maude,

 

  "I Have _Secured_ The _House_ You Write About And Send By This _Post_

  For Hedges And A Few Of The Rest From _Hartledon_. It Won't Accommodate

  A Large _Establishment_ I Can Tell You And You'll Be _Disappointed_

  When You Come Over To Take _Possession_ Which You Can Do When You

  _Choose_. Val Was A _Fool_ For Letting His Town House In The Spring But

  Of Course We Know He Is _One_ And Must Put Up With It. Whatever You

  _Do_,  Don't _Consult_ Him About _Any Earthly Thing_ Take _Your Own

  Way_,  He Never Did Have _Much_ Of A Will And You Must Let Him _Have

  None_ For The Future. You've Got A Splendid _Chance_ Can Spend _What

  You Like_ And Rule In _Society_ And He'll Subside Into A _Tame

  Spaniel_.

 

  "Maude If You Are Such An Idiot I'll _Shake_ You. Find You've Made A

  _Dredful_ Mistake?--Can't Bear Your Husband?--Keep Thinking Always Of

  _Edward_? A Child Might Write Such Utter _Rubish_ But Not You,  What

  Does It Matter Whether One's Husband Is _Liked_ Or _Disliked_,  Provided

  He Gives One _Position_ And _Wealth_? Go To Amiens And Stop With _Jane_

  For A _Week_ And See Her _Plight_ And Then Grumble At Your Own,  You

  _Are_ An Idiot.

 

  "I'm Quite _Glad_ About Your Taking This Town-_House_,  And Shall Enter

  Into _Posession_ Myself As Soon As The Servants Are Up,  And Await You.

  _Bob's_ Quite _Well_ And Joins To-Day And Of Course _Gives Up_ His

  Lodgings,  Which Have Been _Wretchedly Confined_ And Uncomfortable And

  Where I Should Have Gone To But For This _Move_ Of Yours I Don't Know.

  Mind You Bring Me Over A Parisian _Bonnet_ Or Two Or Some Articles Of

  That _Sort_. I'm Nearly In _Rags_,  Kirton's As Undutiful As He _Can_ Be

  But It's That _Wife_ Of His.

 

  "Your Affectionate Mother,

 

  "C. Kirton."

 

The Letter Will Give You Some Guide To The Policy Of Maude Hartledon

Since Her Marriage. She Did Find She Had Made A Mistake. She Cared No

More For Her Husband Now Than She Had Cared For Him Before; And It Was A

Positive Fact That She Despised Him For Walking So Tamely Into The Snare

Laid For Him By Herself And Her Mother. Nevertheless She Triumphed; He

Had Made Her A Peeress,  And She Did Care For That; She Cared Also For The

Broad Lands Of Hartledon.