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

meditate upon, the steps which should be first taken in the work that lay before him.

That work was no less painful a task than the writing of a letter to Lady Eversleigh, to inform her of the calamity which had taken place-- of the terrible realization of her worst fears. Captain Copplestone's varied and adventurous life had never brought him a severer or more painful duty, but he was not the man to shirk or defer it, because it involved suffering to himself.

The letter was written, and despatched by the evening post, and then the captain shut himself up in his own room, and gave way to the bitterest grief he had ever experienced.

Who shall describe the agony which Lady Eversleigh suffered when Captain Copplestone's letter reached her? For the first half-hour after she read it, a blight seemed to fall upon her senses, and she sat still in her chair, stupefied; but when she rallied, her first impulse was to send for Andrew Larkspur, who was now nearly restored to his usual state of sound health.

She rang the bell, and summoned Jane Payland.

"There is a lawyer's clerk living in this house," she said; "Mr. Andrews. Go to him immediately, and ask him to favour me with an interview. I wish to consult him on a matter of business."

"Yes, ma'am," answered Miss Payland, looking inquisitively at the ashen face of her mistress. "There's something fresh this morning," she muttered to herself, as she tripped lightly up the stairs to do her bidding.

Mr. Larkspur--or Mr. Andrews--presented himself before Lady Eversleigh a few minutes after he received her message. He found her pacing the room in a fever of excitement.

"Good gracious me, ma'am!" he exclaimed; "is there anything amiss?"

"Yes," she answered, handing him the letter.

Mr. Larkspur read the letter to the end, and then read it again.

"This is a bad job," he said, calmly; "what's to be done now?"

"You must accompany me to Raynham Castle--you must help me to find my child!" cried Honoria, in wild excitement. "You are better now, Mr. Larkspur, you can bear the journey? For Heaven's sake, do not say you cannot aid me. You must come with me, Andrew Larkspur. I do not offer to bribe you--I say you must come! Bring me my darling safe to my arms, and you may name your own reward for that priceless service."

"No, no," said Mr. Larkspur; "I don't say _that_. I am well enough, so far as that goes, but how about our little schemes in London?"

"Never mind them--never think of them! What are they to me now?"

"Very well, my lady," answered Mr. Larkspur; "if it must be so, it must be. I must turn my back upon the neatest business that ever a Bow Street officer handled, just as it's getting most interesting to a well-regulated mind."

"And you'll come with me at once?"

"Give me one hour to make my plans, ma'am, and I'm your man," replied Mr. Larkspur. "I'll pack a carpet-bag, leave it down stairs, take a hackney coach to Bow Street, see my deputy, and arrange some matters for him, and be ready one hour from this time, when you'll be so kind as to call for me in a post-chaise--not forgetting to bring my carpet- bag with you in the boot, if you please. And now you be so good as to keep up your spirits, ma'am, like a Trojan--which I've heard the Trojans had an uncommon hard time of it in their day. If the child is to be found, Andrew Larkspur is the man to find her; and as to reward, we won't talk about that, if you please, my lady. I may be a hard- fisted one, but I'm not the individual to trade upon the feelings of a mother that has lost her only child."

Having said this, Mr. Larkspur departed, and in less than two hours he and Lady Eversleigh were seated in a post-chaise, behind four horses, tearing along the road between London and Barnet.

And thus additional security attended the schemes of Victor Carrington.

CHAPTER XXXV.


LARKSPUR TO THE RESCUE.

The journey of Lady Eversleigh and her companion, the Bow Street officer, was as rapid as the journey of Captain Copplestone. Along the same northern road as that which he had travelled a few days before flew the post-chaise containing the anguish-stricken mother and her strange ally. In this hour of agony and suspense, Honoria Eversleigh looked to the queer, wizened little police-officer, Andrew Larkspur, as the best friend she had on earth.

"You'll find my child for me?" she cried many times during the course of that long journey, appealing to Mr. Larkspur, with clasped hands and streaming eyes. "Oh, tell me that you'll find her for me. For pity's sake, give me some comfort--some hope."

"I'll give you plenty of comfort, and plenty of hope, too, mum, if you'll only cheer up and trust in me," answered the luminary of Bow Street, with that stolid calmness of manner which seemed as if it would scarcely have been disturbed by an earthquake. "You keep up your spirits, and don't give way. If the little lady is alive, I'll bring her back to you safe and sound. If--if--so be as she's--contrarywise," added Mr. Larkspur, alarmed by the wild look in his companion's eyes, as he was about to pronounce the terrible word she so much feared to hear, "why, in that case I'll find them as have done the deed, and they shall pay for it."

"Oh, give her back to me!" exclaimed Honoria; "give her back! Let me hold her in my arms once more. I abandon all thought of revenge upon those who have so basely wronged me. Let Providence alone deal with them and their crime. It may be this punishment has come to me, because I have sought to usurp the office of Providence. Let me have my darling once more, and I will banish from my heart every feeling which a Christian should abjure."

Bitter remorse was mingled with the agony which rent the mother's heart in those terrible hours. All at once her eyes were opened to the deep and dreadful guilt involved in those vengeful feelings she had so long nourished, to the exclusion of all tender emotions, all generous instincts.

Bitterly did the mother upbraid herself as she sat, with her hands clasped tightly together, her pale face turned to the window, her haggard eyes looking out at every object on the road, eager to behold any landmark that would tell her that she was so many miles nearer the end of her journey.

She had concluded that, as a matter of course, the disappearance of the child had been directly or indirectly the work of Sir Reginald Eversleigh; and she said as much to Mr. Larkspur. But, to her surprise, she found that he did not share her opinion upon this subject.

"If you ask me whether Sir Reginald is in it, I'll tell you candidly, no, my lady, I don't think he is. I don't need to tell you that I've had a deal of experience in my time; and, if that experience is worth a brass button, Sir Reginald hasn't any hand in this business down in Yorkshire."

"Not directly, perhaps, but indirectly," interrupted Honoria.

"Neither one nor the other," answered the great man of Bow Street. "I've had my eye upon the baronet ever since you put me up to watching him; and there's precious little he could do without my spotting him. I know what letters he has written, and I know more or less what has been in those letters. I know what people he has seen, and more or less what he has said to them; and I don't see that it's possible he could have carried on such a game as this abduction of Missy without my having an inkling of it."

"But what of his ally--his bosom-friend and confederate--Victor Carrington? May not his treacherous hand have struck this blow?"

"I think not, my lady," replied Mr. Larkspur. "I've had my eye upon that gentleman likewise, as per agreement; for when Andrew Larkspur guarantees to do a thing, he ain't the man to do it by halves. I've kept a close watch upon Mr. Carrington; and with the exception of his _parleyvous francais_-ing with that sharp-nosed, shabby-genteel lady- companion of Madame Durski's, there's very few of _his_ goings-on I haven't been able to reckon up to a fraction. No, my lady, there's some one else in this business; and who that some one else is, it'll be my duty to find out. But I can't do anything till I get on the ground. When I get on the ground, and have had time to look about me, I shall be able to form an opinion."

Honoria was fain to be patient, to put her trust in heaven, and, beneath heaven, in this pragmatical little police-officer, who really felt as much compassion for her sorrow as it was possible for a man so steeped in the knowledge of crime and iniquity, and so hardened by contact with the worst side of the world, to feel for any human grief. She was compelled to be patient, or, at any rate, to assume that outward aspect of calmness which seems like patience, while the heart within her breast throbbed tumultuously as storm-driven waves.

At last the wearisome journey came to an end. She entered the arched gateway of Raynham Castle; and, as she looked out of the carriage window, she saw the big black letters, printed on a white broadside, offering a reward of three hundred pounds for the early restoration of the missing child.

Mr. Larkspur gave a scornful sniff as he perceived this bill.

"That won't bring her back," he muttered. "Those who've taken her away will play a deeper game than to bring her back for the first reward that's offered, or the second, or the third. She'll have to be found by those that are a match for the scoundrel that stole her from her home; and perhaps he _will_ find his match before long, clever as he is."

The meeting between Honoria and Captain Copplestone was a very quiet one. She was far too noble, far too just to reproach the friend in whom she had trusted, even though he had failed in his trust.

He had heard the approach of the post-chaise, and he awaited her on the threshold of the door. He had gone forth to many a desperate encounter; but he had never felt so heart-piercing a pang as that which he endured this day when he went to meet Lady Eversleigh.

She held out her hand to him as she crossed the threshold. "I have done my duty," he said, in low, earnest tones, "as I am a man of honour and a soldier, Lady Eversleigh; I have done my duty, miserable as the result has been."

"I can believe that," answered Honoria, gravely. "Your face tells me there are no good tidings to greet me here. She is not found?"

The captain shook his head sadly.

"And there are no tidings of any kind?--no clue, no trace?"

"None. The constable of this place, and other men from the market-town, are doing their utmost; but as yet the result has been only new mystification--new conjecture."

"No; nor wouldn't be, if the constables were to have twenty years to do their work in, instead of three days," interrupted Mr. Larkspur. "Perhaps you don't know what country police-officers are? I