Lord Tony’s Wife by Baroness Orczy (13 ebook reader TXT) 📕

Tony had paid no heed to her at first; he had walked across the narrow hall to the oak staircase, and was halfway up the first flight when her last words struck upon his ear⁠ ⁠… quite without meaning for the moment⁠ ⁠… but nevertheless he paused, one foot on one tread, and the other two treads below⁠ ⁠… and he turned round to look at the woman, a swift frown across his smooth forehead.

“Gone these two days,” he repeated mechanically; “what do you mean?”

“Well! ’Is Grace left the day afore yesterday⁠—Thursday it was.⁠ ⁠… ’Is man went yesterday afternoon with luggage and sich⁠ ⁠… ’e went by coach ’e did.⁠ ⁠… Leave off,” she cried suddenly; “what are ye doin’? Ye’re ’urtin’ me.”

For Lord Tony had rushed down the stairs again and was across the hall, gripping the unoffending woman by the wrist and glaring into her expressionless face until she screamed with fright.

“I beg your pardon,” he said humbly as he released her wrist: all the instincts of the courteous gentleman arrayed against his loss of control. “I⁠ ⁠… I forgot myself for the moment,” he stammered; “would you mind telling me again⁠ ⁠… what⁠ ⁠… what you said just now?”

The woman was prepared to put on the airs of outraged dignity, she even glanced up at the malapert with scorn expressed in her small beady eyes. But at sight of his face her anger and her fears both fell away from her. Lord Tony was white to the lips, his cheeks were the colour of dead ashes, his mouth trembled, his eyes alone glowed with ill-repressed anxiety.

“ ’Is Grace,” she said with slow emphasis, for of a truth she thought that the young gentleman was either sick or daft, “ ’Is Grace left this ’ouse the day afore yesterday in a hired barouche. ’Is man⁠—Frederick⁠—went yesterday afternoon with the liggage. ’E caught the Bristol coach at two o’clock. I was ’is Grace’s ’ousekeeper and I am to look after the ’ouse and the zervants until I ’ear from ’is Grace again. Them’s my orders. I know no more than I’m tellin’ ye.”

“But His Grace returned here yesterday forenoon,” argued Lord Tony calmly, mechanically, as one who would wish to convince an obstinate child. “And my lady⁠ ⁠… Mademoiselle Yvonne, you know⁠ ⁠… was with him.”

“Noa! Noa!” said the woman placidly. “ ’Is Grace ’asn’t been near this ’ouse come Thursday afternoon, and ’is man left yesterday wi’ th’ liggage. Why!” she added confidentially, “ ’e ain’t gone far. It was all zettled that zuddint I didn’t know nothing about it myzelf till I zeed Mr. Frederick start off wi’ th’ liggage. Not much liggage neither it wasn’t. Sure but ’is Grace’ll be ’ome zoon. ’E can’t ’ave gone far. Not wi’ that bit o’ liggage. Zure.”

“But my lady⁠ ⁠… Mademoiselle Yvonne.⁠ ⁠…”

“Lor, zir, didn’t ye know? Why ’twas all over th’ town o’ Tuesday as ’ow Mademozell ’ad eloped with my lord Anthony Dew’urst, and.⁠ ⁠…”

“Yes! yes! But you have seen my lady since?”

“Not clapped eyes on ’er, zir, since she went to the ball come Monday evenin’. An’ a picture she looked in ’er white gown.⁠ ⁠…”

“And⁠ ⁠… did His Grace leave no message⁠ ⁠… for⁠ ⁠… for anyone?⁠ ⁠… no letter?”

“Ah, yes, now you come to mention it, zir. Mr. Frederick ’e give me a letter yesterday. ‘ ’Is Grace,’ sez ’e, ‘left this yere letter on ’is desk. I just found it,’ sez ’e. ‘If my lord Anthony Dew’urst calls,’ sez ’e, ‘give it to ’im.’ I’ve got the letter zomewhere, zir. What may your name be?”

“I am Lord Anthony Dewhurst,” replied the young man mechanically.

“Your pardon, my lord, I’ll go fetch th’ letter.”

Lord Tony never moved while the woman shuffled across the passage and down the back stairs. He was like a man who has received a knockout blow and has not yet had time to recover his scattered senses. At first when the woman spoke, his mind had jumped to fears of some awful accident⁠ ⁠… runaway horses⁠ ⁠… a broken barouche⁠ ⁠… or a sudden aggravation of the duc’s ill-health. But soon he was forced to reject what now would have seemed a consoling thought: had there been an accident, he would have heard⁠—a rumour would have reached him⁠—Yvonne would have sent a courier. He did not know yet what to think, his mind was like a slate over which a clumsy hand had passed a wet sponge⁠—impressions, recollections, above all a hideous, nameless fear, were all blurred and confused within his brain.

The woman came back carrying a letter which was crumpled and greasy from a prolonged sojourn in the pocket of her apron. Lord Tony took the letter and broke its heavy seal. The woman watched him, curiously, pityingly now, for he was good to look on, and she scented the significance of the tragedy which she had been the means of revealing to him. But he had become quite unconscious of her presence, of everything in fact save those few sentences, written in French, in a cramped hand, and which seemed to dance a wild saraband before his eyes:

“Milor⁠—

“You tried to steal my daughter from me, but I have taken her from you now. By the time this reaches you we shall be on the high seas on our way to Holland, thence to Coblentz, where Mademoiselle de Kernogan will in accordance with my wishes be united in lawful marriage to M. Martin-Roget whom I have chosen to be her husband. She is not and never was your wife. As far as one may look into the future, I can assure you that you will never in life see her again.”

And to this monstrous document of appalling callousness and cold-blooded cruelty there was appended the signature of André Dieudonné Duc de Kernogan.

But unlike the writer thereof Lord Anthony Dewhurst neither stormed nor raged: he did not even tear the execrable letter into an hundred fragments. His firm hand closed over it with one convulsive clutch, and that was all. Then he slipped the crumpled paper into