Elster's Folly by Mrs. Henry Wood (buy e reader .TXT) 📕

Tuesday Morning Rose,  Bright And Propitious: A Contrast To The Two

Previous Days Arranged For The Boat-Race. All Was Pleasure,  Bustle,

Excitement At Hartledon: But The Coolness That Had Arisen Between The

Brothers Was Noticed By Some Of The Guests. Neither Of Them Was Disposed

To Take The First Step Towards Reconciliation: And,  Indeed,  A Little

Incident That Occurred That Morning Led To Another Ill Word Between

Them. An Account That Had Been Standing For More Than Two Years Was Sent

In To Lord Hartledon's Steward; It Was For Some Harness,  A Saddle,  A

Silver-Mounted Whip,  And A Few Trifles Of That Sort,  Supplied By A Small

Tradesman In The Village. Lord Hartledon Protested There Was Nothing Of

The Sort Owing; But Upon Inquiry The Debtor Proved To Be Mr. Percival

Elster. Lord Hartledon,  Vexed That Any One In The Neighbourhood Should

Have Waited So Long For His Money,  Said A Sharp Word On The Score To

Percival; And The Latter Retorted As Sharply That It Was No Business Of

His. Again Val Was Angry With Himself,  And Thus Gave Vent To His Temper.

The Fact Was,  He Had Completely Forgotten The Trifling Debt,  And Was As

Vexed As Hartledon That It Should Have Been Allowed To Remain Unpaid: But

The Man Had Not Sent Him Any Reminder Whilst He Was Away.

"Pay It To-Day,  Marris," Cried Lord Hartledon To His Steward. "I Won't

Have This Sort Of Thing At Calne."

His Tone Was One Of Irritation--Or It Sounded So To The Ears Of His

Conscious Brother,  And Val Bit His Lips. After That,  Throughout The

Morning,  They Maintained A Studied Silence Towards Each Other; And

This Was Observed,  But Was Not Commented On. Val Was Unusually Quiet

Altogether: He Was Saying To Himself That He Was Sullen.

The Starting-Hour For The Race Was Three O'clock; But Long Before That

Time The Scene Was Sufficiently Animated,  Not To Say Exciting. It Was A

Most Lovely Afternoon. Not A Trace Remained Of The Previous Day's Rain;

And The River--Wide Just There,  As It Took The Sweeping Curve Of The

Point--Was Dotted With These Little Wager Boats. Their Owners For The

Time Being,  In Their White Boating-Costume,  Each Displaying His Colours,

Were In Highest Spirits; And The Fair Gazers Gathered On The Banks Were

Anxious As To The Result. The Favourite Was Lord Hartledon--By Long Odds,

As Mr. Shute Grumbled. Had His Lordship Been Known Not To Possess The

Smallest Chance,  Nine Of Those Fair Girls Out Of Ten Would,  Nevertheless,

Have Betted Upon Him. Some Of Them Were Hoping To Play For A Deeper Stake

Than A Pair Of Gloves. A Staff,  From Which Fluttered A Gay Little Flag,

Had Been Driven Into The Ground,  Exactly Opposite The House; It Was The

Starting And The Winning Point. At A Certain Distance Up The River,  Near

To The Mill,  A Boat Was Moored In Mid-Stream: This They Would Row Round,

And Come Back Again.

At Three O'clock They Were To Take The Boats; And,  Allowing For Time

Being Wasted In The Start,  Might Be In Again And The Race Won In

Three-Quarters-Of-An-Hour. But,  As Is Often The Case,  The Time Was Not

Adhered To; One Hindrance After Another Occurred; There Was A Great Deal

Of Laughing And Joking,  Forgetting Of Things,  And Of Getting Into Order;

And At A Quarter To Four They Were Not Off. But All Were Ready At Last,

And Most Of The Rowers Were Each In His Little Cockle-Shell. Lord

Hartledon Lingered Yet In The Midst Of The Group Of Ladies,  All Clustered

Together At One Spot,  Who Were Keeping Him With Their Many Comments And

Questions. Each Wore The Colours Of Her Favourite: The Crimson And Purple

Predominating,  For They Were Those Of Their Host. Lady Kirton Displayed

Her Loyalty In A Conspicuous Manner. She Had An Old Crimson Gauze Skirt

On,  Once A Ball-Dress,  With Ends Of Purple Ribbon Floating From It And

Fluttering In The Wind; And A Purple Head-Dress With A Crimson Feather.

Maude,  In A Spirit Of Perversity,  Displayed A Blue Shoulder-Knot,  Timidly

Offered To Her By A Young Oxford Man Who Was Staying There,  Mr. Shute;

And Anne Ashton Wore The Colours Given Her By Lord Hartledon.

"I Can't Stay; You'd Keep Me Here All Day: Don't You See They Are Waiting

For Me?" He Laughingly Cried,  Extricating Himself From The Throng. "Why,

Anne,  My Dear,  Is It You? How Is It I Did Not See You Before? Are You

Here Alone?"

She Had Not Long Joined The Crowd,  Having Come Up Late From The Rectory,

And Had Been Standing Outside,  For She Never Put Herself Forward

Anywhere. Lord Hartledon Drew Her Arm Within His Own For A Moment And

Took Her Apart.

"Arthur Came Up With Me: I Don't Know Where He Is Now. Mamma Was Afraid

To Venture,  Fearing The Grass Might Be Damp."

"And The Rector _Of Course_ Would Not Countenance Us By Coming," Said

Lord Hartledon,  With A Laugh. "I Remember His Prejudices Against Boating

Of Old."

"He Is Coming To Dinner."

"As You All Are; Arthur Also To-Day. I Made The Doctor Promise That. A

Jolly Banquet We'll Have,  Too,  And Toast The Winner. Anne,  I Just Wanted

To Say This To You; Val Is In An Awful Rage With Me For Letting That

Matter Get To The Ears Of Your Father,  And I Am Not Pleased With Him; So

Altogether We Are Just Now Treating Each Other To A Dose Of Sullenness,

And When We Do Speak It's To Growl Like Two Amiable Bears; But It Shall

Make No Difference To What I Said Last Week. All Shall Be Made Smooth,

Even To The Satisfaction Of Your Father. You May Trust Me."

He Ran Off From Her,  Stepped Into The Skiff,  And Was Taking The Sculls,

When He Uttered A Sudden Exclamation,  Leaped Out Again,  And Began To Run

With All Speed Towards The House.

"What Is It? Where Are You Going?" Asked The O'moore,  Who Was The

Appointed Steward.

"I Have Forgotten--" _What_,  They Did Not Catch; The Word Was Lost On The

Air.

"It Is Bad Luck To Turn Back," Called Out Maude. "You Won't Win."

He Was Already Half-Way To The House. A Couple Of Minutes After Entering

It He Reappeared Again,  And Came Flying Down The Slopes At Full Speed.

Suddenly His Foot Slipped,  And He Fell To The Ground. The Only One Who

Saw The Accident Was Mr. O'moore; The General Attention At That Moment

Being Concentrated Upon The River. He Hastened Back. Hartledon Was Then

Gathering Himself Up,  But Slowly.

"No Damage," Said He; "Only A Bit Of A Wrench To The Foot. Give Me Your

Arm For A Minute,  O'moore. This Ground Must Be Slippery From Yesterday's

Rain."

Mr. O'moore Held Out His Arm,  And Hartledon Took It. "The Ground Is Not

Slippery,  Hart; It's As Dry As A Bone."

"Then What Caused Me To Slip?"

"The Rate You Were Coming At. Had You Not Better Give Up The Contest,  And

Rest?"

"Nonsense! My Foot Will Be All Right In The Skiff. Let Us Get On; They'll

All Be Out Of Patience."

When It Was Seen That Something Was Amiss With Him,  That He Leaned Rather

Heavily On The O'moore,  Eager Steps Pressed Round Him. Lord Hartledon

Laughed,  Making Light Of It; He Had Been So Clumsy As To Stumble,  And Had

Twisted His Ankle A Little. It Was Nothing.

"Stay On Shore And Give It A Rest," Cried One,  As He Stepped Once More

Into The Little Boat. "I Am Sure You Are Hurt."

"Not I. It Will Have Rest In The Boat. Anne," He Said,  Looking Up At Her

With His Pleasant Smile,  "Do You Wear My Colours Still?"

She Touched The Knot On Her Bosom,  And Smiled Back To Him,  Her Tone Full

Of Earnestness. "I Would Wear Them Always."

And The Countess-Dowager,  In Her Bedecked Flounces And Crimson Feather,

Looked As If She Would Like To Throw The Knot And Its Wearer Into The

River,  In The Wake Of The Wager Boats. After One Or Two False Starts,

They Got Off At Last.

"Do You Think It Seemly,  This Flirtation Of Yours With Lord Hartledon?"

Anne Turned In Amazement. The Face Of The Old Dowager Was Close To Her;

The Snub Nose And Rouged Cheeks And False Flaxen Front Looked Ready To

Eat Her Up.

"I Have No Flirtation With Lord Hartledon,  Lady Kirton; Or He With Me.

When I Was A Child,  And He A Great Boy,  Years Older,  He Loved Me And

Petted Me As A Little Sister: I Think He Does The Same Still."

"My Daughter Tells Me You Are Counting Upon One Of The Two. If I Say To

You,  Do Not Be Too Sanguine Of Either,  I Speak As A Friend; As Your

Mother Might Speak. Lord Hartledon Is Already Appropriated; And Val

Elster Is Not Worth Appropriating."

Was She Mad? Anne Ashton Looked At Her,  Really Doubting It. No,  She Was

Only Vulgar-Minded,  And Selfish,  And Utterly Impervious To All Sense Of

Shame In Her Scheming. Instinctively Anne Moved A Pace Further Off.

"I Do Not Think Lord Hartledon Is Appropriated Yet," Spoke Anne,  In A

Little Spirit Of Mischievous Retaliation. "That Some Amongst His Present

Guests Would Be Glad To Appropriate Him May Be Likely Enough; But What If

He Is Not Willing To Be Appropriated? He Said To Mr. Elster,  Last Week,

That They Were Wasting Their Time."

"Who's Mr. Elster?" Cried The Angry Dowager. "What Right Has He To Be

At Hartledon,  Poking His Nose Into Everything That Does Not Concern

Him?--What Right Has He,  I Ask?"

"The Right Of Being Lord Hartledon's Brother," Carelessly Replied Anne.

"It Is A Right He Had Best Not Presume Upon," Rejoined Lady Kirton.

"Brothers Are Brothers As Children; But The Tie Widens As They Grow Up

And Launch Out Into Their Different Spheres. There's Not A Man Of All

Hartledon's Guests But Has More Right To Be Here Than Val Elster."

"Yet They Are Brothers Still."

"Brothers! I'll Take Care That Val Elster Presumes No More Upon The Tie

When Maude Reigns At--"

For Once The Countess-Dowager Caught Up Her Words. She Had Said More Than

She Had Meant To Say. Anne Ashton's Calm Sweet Eyes Were Bent Upon Her,

Waiting For More.

"It Is True," She Said,  Giving A Shake To The Purple Tails,  And Taking A

Sudden Resolution,  "Maude Is To Be His Wife; But I Ought Not To Have Let

It Slip Out. It Was Unintentional; And I Throw Myself On Your Honour,

Miss Ashton."

"But It Is Not True?" Asked Anne,  Somewhat Perplexed.

"It _Is_ True. Hartledon Has His Own Reasons For Keeping It Quiet At

Present; But--You'll See When The Time Comes. Should I Take Upon Myself

So Much Rule Here,  But That It Is To Be Maude's Future Home?"

"I Don't Believe It," Cried Anne,  As The Old Story-Teller Sailed Off.

"That She Loves Him,  And That Her Mother Is Anxious To Secure Him,  Is

Evident; But He Is Truthful And Open,  And Would Never Conceal It. No,  No,

Lady Maude! You Are Cherishing A False Hope. You Are Very Beautiful,  But

You Are Not Worthy Of Him; And I Should Not Like You For My Sister-In-Law

At All. That Dreadful Old Countess-Dowager! How She Dislikes Val,  And How

Rude She Is! I'll Try Not To Come In Her Way Again After To-Day,  As Long

As They Are At Hartledon."

"What Are You Thinking Of,  Anne?"

"Oh,  Not Much," She Answered,  With A Soft Blush,  For The Questioner Was

Mr. Elster. "Do You Think Your Brother Has Hurt Himself Much,  Val?"

"I Didn't Know He Had Hurt Himself At All," Returned Val Rather Coolly,

Who Had Been On The River At The Time In Somebody's Skiff,  And Saw

Nothing Of The Occurrence. "What Has He Done?"

"He Slipped Down On The Slopes And Twisted His Ankle. I Suppose They Will

Be Coming Back Soon."

"I Suppose They Will," Was The Answer. Val Seemed In An Ungracious

Mood. He And Mr. O'moore And Young Carteret Were The Only Three Who Had

Remained Behind. Anne Asked Val Why He Did Not Go And Look On; And He

Answered,  Because He Didn't Want To.

It Was Getting On For Five O'clock When The Boats Were Discerned

Returning. How They Clustered On The Banks,  Watching The Excited Rowers,

Some Pale With Their Exertions,  Others In A White Heat! Captain Dawkes

Was First,  And Was Doing All He Could To Keep