Run to Earth - Mary Elizabeth Braddon (classic reads .TXT) 📗

at ease, and on entering the house he discovered that the doctor from Plimborough had arrived during his absence, and was to remain until the following day, when his evidence would be required at the inquest.

It was Joseph Millard who told him this.

"The inquest! What inquest?" asked Reginald.

"The coroner's inquest, sir. It is to be held to-morrow in the great dining-room. Sir Oswald died so suddenly, you see, sir, that it's only natural there should be an inquest. I'm sorry to say there's a talk about his having committed suicide, poor gentleman!"

"Suicide--yes--yes--that is possible; he may have committed suicide," murmured Reginald.

"It's very dreadful, isn't it, sir? The two doctors and Mr. Dalton, the lawyer, are together in the library. The body has been moved into the state bed-room."

The lawyer emerged from the library at this moment, and approached Reginald.

"Can I speak with you for a few minutes, Mr. Eversleigh?" he asked.

"Certainly."

He went into the library, where he found the two doctors, and another person, whom he had not expected to see.

This was a country gentleman--a wealthy landed squire and magistrate-- whom Reginald Eversleigh had known from his boyhood. His name was Gilbert Ashburne; and he was an individual of considerable importance in the neighbourhood of Raynham, near which village he had a fine estate.

Mr. Ashburne was standing with his back to the empty fireplace, in conversation with one of the medical men, when Reginald entered the room. He advanced a few paces, to shake hands with the young man, and then resumed his favourite magisterial attitude, leaning against the chimney-piece, with his hands in his trousers' pockets.

"My dear Eversleigh," he said, "this is a very terrible affair--very terrible!"

"Yes, Mr. Ashburne, my uncle's sudden death is indeed terrible."

"But the manner of his death! It is not the suddenness only, but the nature--"

"You forget, Mr. Ashburne," interposed one of the medical men, "Mr. Eversleigh knows nothing of the facts which I have stated to you."

"Ah, he does not! I was not aware of that. You have no suspicion of any foul play in this sad business, eh, Mr. Eversleigh?" asked the magistrate.

"No," answered Reginald. "There is only one person I could possibly suspect; and that person has herself given utterance to suspicions that sound like the ravings of madness."

"You mean Lady Eversleigh?" said the Raynham doctor.

"Pardon me," said Mr. Ashburne; "but this business is altogether so painful that it obliges me to touch upon painful subjects. Is there any truth in the report which I have heard of Lady Eversleigh's flight on the evening of some rustic gathering?"

"Unhappily, the report has only too good a foundation. My uncle's wife did take flight with a lover on the night before last; but she returned yesterday, and had an interview with her husband. What took place at that interview I cannot tell you; but I imagine that my uncle forbade her to remain beneath his roof. Immediately after she had left him, he sent for me, and announced his determination to reinstate me in my old position as his heir. He would not, I am sure, have done this, had he believed his wife innocent."

"And she left the castle at his bidding?"

"It was supposed that she left the castle; but this morning she reappeared, and claimed the right to remain beneath this roof."

"And where had she passed the night?"

"Not in her own apartments. Of that I have been informed by her maid, who believed that she had left Raynham for good."

"Strange!" exclaimed the magistrate. "If she is guilty, why does she remain here, where her guilt is known--where she maybe suspected of a crime, and the most terrible of crimes?"

"Of what crime?"

"Of murder, Mr. Eversleigh. I regret to tell you that these two medical gentlemen concur in the opinion that your uncle's death was caused by poison. A _post-mortem_ examination will be made to-night."

"Upon what evidence?"

"On the evidence of an empty glass, which is under lock and key in yonder cabinet," answered the doctor from Plimborough; "and at the bottom of which I found traces of one of the most powerful poisons known to those who are skilled in the science of toxicology: and on the further evidence of diagnostics which I need not explain--the evidence of the dead man's appearance, Mr. Eversleigh. That your uncle died from the effects of poison, there cannot be the smallest doubt. The next question to be considered is, whether that poison was administered by his own hand, or the hand of an assassin."

"He may have committed suicide," said Reginald, with some hesitation.

"It is just possible," answered Gilbert Ashburne; "though from my knowledge of your uncle's character, I should imagine it most unlikely. At any rate, his papers will reveal the state of his mind immediately before his death. It is my suggestion, therefore, that his papers should be examined immediately by you, as his nearest relative and acknowledged heir--by me, as magistrate of the district, and in the presence of Mr. Dalton, who was your uncle's confidential solicitor. Have you any objection to offer to this course, Mr. Eversleigh, or Sir Reginald, as I suppose I ought now to call you?" It was the first time Reginald Eversleigh had heard himself addressed by the title which was now his own--that title which, borne by the possessor of a great fortune, bestows so much dignity; but which, when held by a poor man, is so hollow a mockery. In spite of his fears--in spite of that sense of remorse which had come upon him since his uncle's death--the sound of the title was pleasant to his ears, and he stood for the moment silent, overpowered by the selfish rapture of gratified pride.

The magistrate repeated his question.

"Have you any objection to offer, Sir Reginald?"

"None whatever, Mr. Ashburne."

Reginald Eversleigh was only too glad to accede to the magistrate's proposition. He was feverishly anxious to see the will which was to make him master of Raynham. He knew that such a will had been duly executed. He had no reason to fear that it had been destroyed; but still he wanted to see it--to hold it in his hands, to have incontestable proof of its existence.

The examination of the papers was serious work. The lawyer suggested that the first to be scrutinized should be those that he had found on the table at which Sir Oswald had been writing.

The first of these papers which came into the magistrate's hand was Mary Goodwin's letter. Reginald Eversleigh recognized the familiar handwriting, the faded ink, and crumpled paper. He stretched out his hand at the moment Gilbert Ashburne was about to examine the document.

"That is a letter," he said, "a strictly private letter, which I recognize. It is addressed to me, as you will see; and posted in Paris nearly two years ago. I must beg you not to read it."

"Very well, Sir Reginald, I will take your word for it. The letter has nothing to do with the subject of our present inquiry. Certainly, a letter, posted in Paris two years ago, can scarcely have any connection with the state of your uncle's mind last night."

The magistrate little thought how very important an influence that crumpled sheet of paper had exercised upon the events of the previous night.

Gilbert Ashburne and the lawyer examined the rest of the packet. There were no papers of importance; nothing throwing any light upon late events, except Lady Eversleigh's letter, and the will made by the baronet immediately after his marriage.

"There is another and a later will," said Reginald, eagerly; "a will made last night, and witnessed by Millard and Peterson. This earlier will ought to have been destroyed."

"It is not of the least consequence, Sir Reginald," replied the solicitor. "The will of latest date is the true one, if there should be a dozen in existence."

"We had better search for the will made last night," said Reginald, anxiously.

The magistrate and the lawyer complied. They perceived the anxiety of the expectant heir, and gave way to it. The search occupied a long time, but no second will was found; the only will that could be discovered was that made within a week of the baronet's marriage.

"The will attested last night must be in this room," exclaimed Reginald. "I will send for Millard; and you shall hear from his lips an exact account of what occurred."

The young man tried in vain to conceal the feeling of alarm which had taken possession of him. What would be his position if this will should not be found? A beggar, steeped in crime.

He rang the bell and sent for the valet. Joseph Millard came, and repeated his account of the previous night's transaction. It was clear that the will had been made. It was equally clear that if it were still in existence, it must be found in that room, for the valet declared that his master had not left the library after the execution of the document.

"I was on the watch and on the listen all night, you see, gentlemen," said Joseph Millard; "for I was very uneasy about master, knowing what trouble had come upon him, and how he'd never been to bed all the night before. I thought he might call me at any minute, so I kept close at hand. There's a little room next to this, and I sat in there with the door open, and though I dropped off into a doze now and then, I never was sound enough asleep not to have heard this door open, if it did open. But I'll take my Bible oath that Sir Oswald never left this room after me and Peterson witnessed the will."

"Then the will must be somewhere in the room, and it will be our business to find it," answered Mr. Ashburne. "That will do, Millard; you can go."

The valet retired.

Reginald recommenced the search for the will, assisted by the magistrate and the lawyer, while the two doctors stood by the fire- place, talking together in suppressed tones.

This time the search left no crevice unexamined. But all was done without avail; and despair began to gain upon Reginald Eversleigh.

What if all the crime, the falsehood, the infamy of the past few days had been committed for no result?

He was turning over the papers in the bureau for the third or fourth time, with trembling hands, in the desperate hope that somehow or other the missing will might have escaped former investigations, when he was arrested by a sudden exclamation from Mr. Missenden, the Plimborough surgeon.

"I don't think you need look any farther, Sir Reginald," said this gentleman.

"What do you mean?" cried Reginald, eagerly.

"I believe the will is found."

"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed the young man.

"You mistake, Sir Reginald," said Mr. Missenden, who was kneeling by the fire-place, looking intently at some object in the polished steel fender; "if I am right, and that this really is the document in question, I fear it will be of very little use to you."

"It has been destroyed!" gasped Reginald.

"I fear so. This looks to me like the fragment of a will."

He handed Reginald a scrap of paper, which he had found amongst a heap of grey ashes. It was scorched to a deep yellow colour, and burnt at the edges; but the few words written