Run to Earth - Mary Elizabeth Braddon (ebook reader .txt) 📗

Durski should be rich and respectable, rather

than that she should be poor and—under a cloud. It is no less

manifestly, though not so largely, for your advantage, that I should

get my money from Reginald Eversleigh, because, when I do, get it, I

will hand you five hundred pounds by way of bonus.”

 

“If there were any means by which you could be legally bound to the

fulfilment of that promise, Mr. Carrington,” said Miss Brewer, “I

should request you to put it in writing. But I am quite aware that no

such means exist. I accept it, therefore, with moderate confidence, and

will adopt the course you have sketched, not because I look for the

punctual payment of the money, but because Paulina’s good fortune, if

secured, will secure mine. But I must add,” and here Miss Brewer sat

upright in her chair, and a faint colour came into her sallow cheek, “I

should not have anything to do with your plots and plans, if I did not

believe, and see, that this one is for Paulina’s real good.”

 

Victor Carrington smiled, as he thought, “Here is a rare sample of

human nature. Here is this woman, quite pleased with herself, and

positively looking almost dignified, because she has succeeded in

persuading herself that she is actuated by a good motive.”

 

The conversation between Miss Brewer and Victor Carrington lasted for

some time longer, and then he was left alone, while Miss Brewer went to

attend the lev�e of Madame Durski. As he paced the room, Carrington

smiled again, and muttered, “If Dale were only here, and she could be

persuaded to borrow money of him, all would be right. So far, all is

going well, and I have taken the right course. My motto is the motto of

Danton—’De l’audace, de l’audace, et toujours de l’audace.’”

 

*

 

Victor Carrington dined with Madame Durski and her companion. The meal

was served with elegance, but the stamp of poverty was too plainly

impressed upon all things at Hilton House. The dinner served with such

ceremony was but a scanty banquet—the wines were poor—and Victor

perceived that, in place of the old silver which he had seen on a

previous occasion, Madame Durski’s table was furnished with the most

worthless plated ware.

 

Paulina herself looked pale and haggard. She had the weary air of a

woman who finds life a burden almost too heavy for endurance.

 

“I have consented to see you this evening, Mr. Carrington, in

accordance with your very pressing message,” she said, when she found

herself alone in the drawing-room with Victor Carrington after dinner,

Miss Brewer having discreetly retired; “but I cannot imagine what

business you can have with me.”

 

“Do not question my motives too closely, Madame Durski,” said Victor;

“there are some secrets lying deep at the root of every man’s

existence. Believe me, when I assure you that I take a real interest in

your welfare, and that I came here to-night in the hope of serving you.

Will you permit me to speak as a friend?”

 

“I have so few friends that I should be the last to reject any honest

offer of friendship,” answered Paulina, with a sigh. “And you are the

friend of Reginald Eversleigh. That fact alone gives you some claim to

my regard.”

 

The widow had admitted Victor Carrington to a more intimate

acquaintance than the rest of her visitors; and it was fully understood

between them that he knew of the attachment between herself and Sir

Reginald.

 

“Sir Reginald Eversleigh is my friend,” replied Victor; “but do not

think me treacherous, Madame Durski, when I tell you he is not worthy

of your regard. Were he here at this moment, I would say the same. He

is utterly selfish—it is of his own interest alone that he thinks; and

were the chance of a wealthy marriage to offer itself, I firmly believe

that he would seize it—ay! even if by doing so he knew that he was to

break your heart. I think you know that I am speaking the truth, Madame

Durski?”

 

“I do,” answered Paulina, in a dull, half despairing tone. “Heaven help

me! I know that it is the truth. I have long known as much. We women

are capable of supreme folly. My folly is my regard for your friend

Reginald Eversleigh.”

 

“Let your pride work the cure of that wasted devotion, madame,” said

Victor, earnestly. “Do not submit any longer to be the dupe, the tool,

of this man. Do you know how dearly your self-sacrifice has cost you? I

am sure you do not. You do not know that this house is beginning to be

talked about as a place to be shunned. You have observed, perhaps, that

you have had few visitors of late. Day by day your visitors will grow

fewer. This house is marked. It is talked of at the clubs; and Reginald

Eversleigh will no longer be able to live upon the spoils won from his

dupes and victims. The game is up, Madame Durski; and now that you can

no longer be useful to Reginald Eversleigh, you will see how much his

love is worth.”

 

“I believe he loves me,” murmured Paulina, “after his own fashion.”

 

“Yes, madame, after his own fashion, which is, at the best, a strange

one. May I ask how you spent your Christmas?”

 

“I was very lonely; this house seemed horribly cold and desolate. No

one came near me. There were no congratulations; no Christmas gifts.

Ah! Mr. Carrington, it is a sad thing to be quite alone in the world.”

 

“And Reginald Eversleigh—the man whom you love—he who should have

been at your side, was at Hallgrove Rectory, among a circle of

visitors, flirting with the most notorious of coquettes—Miss Graham,

an old friend of his boyish days.”

 

Victor looked at Paulina’s face, and saw the random shot had gone home.

She grew even paler than she had been before, and there was a nervous

working of the lips that betrayed her agitation.

 

“Were there ladies amongst the guests at Hallgrove?” he asked.

 

“Yes, Madame Durski, there were ladies. Did you not know that it was to

be so?”

 

“No,” replied Paulina. “Sir Reginald told me it was to be a bachelors’

party.”

 

Victor saw that this petty deception on the part of her lover stung

Paulina keenly.

 

She had been deeply wounded by Reginald’s cold and selfish policy; but

until this moment she had never felt the pangs of jealousy.

 

“So he was flirting with one of your fashionable English coquettes,

while I was lonely and friendless in a strange country,” she exclaimed.

And then, after a brief pause, she added, passionately, “You are right,

Mr. Carrington; your friend is unworthy of one thought from me, and I

will think of him no more.”

 

“You will do wisely, and you will receive the proof of what I say ere

long from the lips of Reginald Eversleigh himself. Tell me the truth

dear madame, are not your pecuniary difficulties becoming daily more

pressing?”

 

“They have become so pressing,” answered Paulina, “that, unless

Reginald lends me money almost immediately, I shall be compelled to fly

from this country in secret, like a felon, leaving all my poor

possessions behind me. Already I have parted with my plate, as you no

doubt have perceived. My only hope is in Reginald.”

 

“A broken reed on which to rely, madame. Sir Reginald Eversleigh will

not lend you money. Since this house has become a place of evil odour,

to be avoided by men who have money to lose, you are no longer of any

use to Sir Reginald. He will not lend you money. On the contrary he

will urge your immediate flight from England; and when you have gone—”

 

“What then?”

 

“There will be an obstacle removed from his pathway; and when the

chance of a rich marriage arises, he will be free to grasp it.”

 

“Oh, what utter baseness!” murmured Paulina; “what unspeakable infamy!”

 

“A selfish man can be very base, very infamous,” replied Victor. “But

do not let us speak further of this subject, dear Madame Durski. I have

spoken with cruel truth; but my work has been that of the surgeon, who

uses his knife freely in order to cut away the morbid spot which is

poisoning the very life-blood of the sufferer. I have shown you the

disease, the fatal passion, the wasted devotion, to which you are

sacrificing your life; my next duty is to show you where your cure

lies.”

 

“You may be a very clever surgeon,” replied Paulina, scornfully; “but

in this case your skill is unavailing. For me there is no remedy.”

 

“Nay, madame, that is the despairing cry of a romantic girl, and is

unworthy the lips of an accomplished woman of the world. You complained

just now of your loneliness. You said that it was very sad to be

without a friend. How if I can show you that you possess one attached

and devoted friend, who would be as willing to sacrifice himself for

your interests as you have been willing to devote yourself to Reginald

Eversleigh?”

 

“Who is that friend?”

 

“Douglas Dale.”

 

“Douglas Dale!” exclaimed Paulina. “Yes, I know, that Mr. Dale admires

me, and that he is a good and honourable man; but can I take advantage

of his admiration? Can I trade upon his love? I—who have no heart to

give, no affection to offer in return for the honest devotion of a good

man? Do not ask me to stoop to such baseness—such degradation.”

 

“I ask nothing from you but common sense,” answered Victor impatiently.

“Instead of wasting your love upon Reginald Eversleigh, who is not

worthy a moment’s consideration from you, give at least your esteem and

respect to the honourable and unselfish man who truly loves you.

Instead of flying from England, a ruined woman, branded with the name

of cheat and swindler, remain as the affianced wife of Douglas Dale—

remain to prove to Reginald Eversleigh that there are those in the

world who know how to value the woman he has despised.”

 

“Yes, he has despised me,” murmured Paulina, speaking to herself rather

than to her companion; “he has despised me. He left me alone in this

dreary house; in the Christmas festival time, when friends and lovers

draw nearer together all the world over, united by the sweet influences

of the season; he left me to sit alone by this desolate hearth, while

he made merry with his friends—while he sunned himself in the smiles

of happier women. What truth can he claim from me—he who has been

falsehood itself?”

 

She remained silent for some minutes after this, with her eyes fixed on

the fire, her thoughts far away. Victor did not arouse her from that

reverie. He knew that the work he had to do was progressing rapidly.

 

He felt that he was moulding this proud and passionate woman to his

will, as the sculptor moulds the clay which is to take the form of his

statue.

 

At last she spoke.

 

“I thank you for your good advice, Mr. Carrington,” she said, calmly;

“and I will avail myself of your worldly wisdom. What would you have me

do?”

 

“I would have you tell Douglas Dale, when he returns to town and comes

to see you, the position in which you find yourself with regard to

money matters, and ask the loan of a few hundreds. The truth and depth

of his love for you will be proved by his response to this appeal.”

 

“How came you to suspect his love