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

the money.

 

Thomas Milsom lost no time in taking possession of his new abode. It

was the haunt of the lower class of agricultural labourers, and of the

bargemen, who moored their barges sometimes beneath the shadow of

Raynham Bridge, while they dawdled away a few lazy hours in the village

public-house.

 

Any one who had cared to study Mr. Milsom’s face and manners during his

residence at Raynham, would have speedily perceived that the life did

not suit him. He lounged at the door of the low-gabled cottage, looking

out into the village street with a moody and sullen countenance.

 

He drank a great deal, and swore not a little, and led altogether as

dissolute a life as it was possible to lead in that peaceful village.

 

No sooner had Mr. Milsom established himself at Raynham, than he made

it his business to find out the exact state of affairs at the castle.

He contrived to entice one of the under-servants into his bar-parlour,

and entertained the man so liberally, with a smoking jorum of strong

rum-punch, that a friendly acquaintance was established between the two

on the spot.

 

“There’s nothing in my place you ain’t welcome to, James Harwood,” he

said. “You’re uncommonly like a favourite brother of mine that died

young of the measles; and I’ve taken a fancy to you on account of that

likeness. Come when you like, and as often as you like, and call for

what you like; and there shan’t be no talk of scores between you and

me. I’m a bitter foe, and a firm friend. When I like a man there’s

nothing I couldn’t do to prove my liking; when I hate him—”

 

Here Mr. Milsom’s speech died away into an ominous growl; and James

Harwood, who was rather a timid young man, felt as if drops of cold

water had been running down his back. But the rum-punch was very nice;

and he saw no reason why he should refuse Mr. Milsom’s offer of

friendship.

 

He did drop in very often, having plenty of leisure evenings in which

to amuse himself; and through him Thomas Milsom was enabled to become

familiar with every detail of the household at Raynham Castle.

 

“No news of your lady, I suppose, Mr. Harwood?” Milsom said to him one

Sunday evening in January. “Not coming home yet, I suppose?”

 

“No, Mr. Maunders,” answered the groom; “not to my knowledge. And as to

news, there ain’t anymore news of her than if she and Miss Payland had

gone off to the very wildest part of Africa, where, if you feel

lonesome, and want company, your only choice lies between tigers and

rattlesnakes.”

 

“Never mind Africa! What was it that you were going to say about your

lady?”

 

“Well, I was about to inform you,” replied the groom, with offended

dignity, “when you took me up so uncommon short as to prevent me—I was

about to observe that, although we haven’t received no news whatsoever

from my lady direct, we have received a little bit of news promiscuous

that is rather puzzling, in a manner of speaking.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Well, you see, Mr. Maunders,” began James Harwood, with extreme

solemnity, “it is given out that Lady Eversleigh is gone abroad to the

Continent—wherever that place may be situated—and a very nice place

I dare say it is, when you get there; and it is likewise given out that

Miss Payland have gone with her.”

 

“Well, what then?”

 

“I really wish you hadn’t such a habit of taking people up short, Mr.

Maunders,” remonstrated the groom. “I was on the point of telling you

that our head-coachman had a holiday this Christmas; and where does he

go but up to London, to see his friends, which live there; and while in

London where does he go but to Drury Lane Theatre; and while coming out

of Drury Lane Theatre who does he set his eyes on but Miss Payland,

Lady Eversleigh’s own maid, as large as life, and hanging on the arm of

a respectable elderly man, which might be her father. Our head-coachman

warn’t near enough to her to speak to her; and though he tried to catch

her eye he couldn’t catch it; but he’ll take his Bible oath that the

young woman he saw was Jane Payland, Lady Eversleigh’s own maid. Now,

that’s rather a curious circumstance, is it not, Mr. Maunders?”

 

“It is, rather,” answered the landlord; “but it seems to me your

mistress, Lady Eversleigh, is rather a strange person altogether. It’s

a strange thing for a mother to run away to foreign parts—if she has

gone to foreign parts—and leave her only child behind her.”

 

“Yes; and a child she was so fond of too; that’s the strangest part of

the whole business,” said the groom. “I’m sure to see that mother and

child together, you’d have thought there was no power on earth would

part them; and yet, all of a sudden, my lady goes off, and leaves Miss

Gertrude behind her. But if Miss Gertrude was a royal princess, she

couldn’t be more watched over, or taken more care of, than she is. To

see Mrs. Morden, the governess, with her, you’d think as the little

girl was made of barley-sugar, and would melt away with a drop of rain;

and to see Captain Copplestone with her, you’d think as she was the

crown-jewels of England, and that everybody was on the watch to get the

chance of stealing her.”

 

Black Milsom smiled as the groom said this. It was a grim smile, not by

any means pleasant to see; but James Harwood was not an observer, and

he was looking tenderly at his last spoonful of rum-punch, and

wondering within himself whether Mr. Milsom was likely to offer him

another glass of that delicious beverage.

 

“And pray what sort of a customer is Captain Copplestone?” asked

Milsom, thoughtfully.

 

“An uncommonly tough customer,” replied James Harwood; “that’s what he

is. If it wasn’t for his rheumatic gout, he’s a man that would be ready

to fight the champion of England any day in the week. There’s very few

things the captain wouldn’t do in the way of downright pluck; but, you

see, whatever pluck a man may have, it can’t help him much when he’s

laid by the heels with the rheumatic gout, as the captain is very

often.”

 

“Ha! and who takes care of little missy then?”

 

“Why, the captain. He’s like a watch-dog, and his kennel is at little

missy’s door. That’s what he says himself, in his queer way. Miss

Gertrude and her governess live in three handsome rooms in the south

wing—my lady’s own rooms—and the principal way to these rooms is

along a wide corridor. So what does the captain do when my lady goes

away, but order a great iron door down from London, and has the

corridor shut off with this iron door, bolted, and locked, and barred,

so that the cleverest burglar that ever were couldn’t get it open.”

 

“But how do people get to the little girl’s rooms, then?” asked Thomas

Milsom.

 

“Why, through a small bedroom, intended for Lady Eversleigh’s maid;

and a little bit of a dressing-room, that poor Sir Oswald used to keep

his boots, and hat-boxes, and such like in. These rooms open on to the

second staircase; and what does the captain do but have these two small

rooms fitted up for hisself and his servant, Solomon Grundy, with a

thin wooden partition, with little glass spy-holes in it, put across

the two rooms, to make a kind of passage to the rooms beyond; so that

night and day he can hear every footstep that goes by to Miss

Gertrude’s rooms. Now, what do you think of such whims and fancies?”

 

“I think the captain must be stark staring mad,” answered Milsom; but

it was to be observed that he said this in rather an absent manner, and

appeared to be thinking deeply.

 

“Oh no, he ain’t,” said James Harwood; “there ain’t a sharper customer

going.”

 

And then, finding that the landlord of the “Cat and Fiddle” did not

offer anything more in the way of refreshment, Mr. Harwood departed.

 

There was a full moon that January night, and when Mr. Milsom had

attended to the wants of his customers, seen the last of them to the

door a little before twelve o’clock, shut his shutters, and

extinguished the lights, he stole quietly out of his house, went forth

into the deserted street, and made his way towards the summit of the

hill on which the castle stood, like an ancient fortress, frowning

darkly upon the humble habitations beneath it.

 

He passed the archway and the noble gothic gates, and crept along by

the fine old wall that enclosed the park, where the interlaced

branches of giant oaks and beeches were white under the snow that had

fallen upon them, and formed a picture that was almost like a scene in

Fairyland.

 

He climbed the wall at a spot where a thick curtain of ivy afforded him

a safe footing, and dropped softly upon the ground beneath, where the

snow had drifted into a heap, and made a soft bed for him to fall on.

 

“There will be more snow before daylight to-morrow,” he muttered to

himself, “if I’m any judge of the weather; and there’ll be no trace of

my footsteps to give the hint of mischief.” He ran across the park,

leaped the light, invisible fence dividing the park from the gardens,

and crept cautiously along a shrubberied pathway, where the evergreens

afforded him an impenetrable screen.

 

Thus concealed from the eyes of any chance watcher, he contrived to

approach one end of the terraced slope which formed the garden front of

the castle. Each terrace was adorned with stone balustrades, surmounted

by large vases, also of stone; and, sheltered by these vases, Milsom

ascended to the southern angle of the great pile of building.

 

Seven lighted windows at this southern end of the castle indicated the

apartments occupied by the heiress of Raynham and her eccentric

guardian. The lights burned but dimly, like the night-lamps left

burning during the hours of rest; and Milsom had ascertained from Mr.

Harwood that the household retired before eleven o’clock, at the

latest.

 

The apartments occupied by the little girl were on the first floor. The

massive stone walls here were unadorned with ivy, nor were there any of

those elaborate decorations in stonework which might have afforded a

hold for the foot of the climber. The bare stone wall frowned down upon

Thomas Milsom, impregnable as the walls of Newgate itself.

 

“No,” he muttered to himself, after a long and thoughtful scrutiny; “no

man will ever get at those rooms from the outside; no, not if he had

the power of changing himself into a cat or a monkey. Whoever wants to

have a peep at the heiress of Raynham must go through this valiant

captain’s chamber. Well, well, I’ve heard of tricks played upon

faithful watch-dogs before to-day. There’s very few things a man can’t

do, if he only tries hard enough; and I mean to be revenged upon my

Lady Eversleigh!” He paused for a few moments, standing close against

the wall of the castle, sheltered by its black shadow, and looking down

upon the broad domain beneath.

 

“And this is all hers, is it P—lands and houses; horses and carriages;

powdered footmen to fetch and carry for her; jewels to wear; plates and

dishes of solid gold to eat her dinner off, if she likes! All hers! And

she refuses me a few hundred pounds, and defies me, does she? We’ll see

whether that’s a