Page:010 Once a week Volume X Dec 1863 to Jun 64.pdf/584

 576 “Why didn’t the simpleton write to me by my own name?” he exclaimed. “But that steward always was wanting in common sense. Give me the other letter, Jane.”

The other letter proved to be from the lawyers in London, solicitors for many years to the Oakburn family. They were offering their services to the new peer.

The new peer seemed to have his work cut out for him, Of course the first obvious step was to depart for Chesney Oaks. With his characteristic impulsiveness, he started up to go; then; without the loss of a minute.

“I can’t wait, Jane. What do you say?—stop for tea? Tea! What other rubbish would you like me to stop for? If I can get a gig at the Lion, I may catch the cross-train at Great Wennock. Dead! The poor fellow dead, and none of his kith and kin near him!”

“But, papa, you must take a carpet-bag with you! You will want”

“I shall take nothing with me,” interrupted the earl, catching up his glasses, and buttoning up his coat in a desperate bustle, “You send Pompey after me in the morning to Chesney Oaks with a shirt and my shaving tackle. There! there! I have not a moment to lose, Jane. One kiss apiece, girls, and then—where’s Laura?”

Lucy rushed out of the room, calling “Laura, Laura!” The captain rushed after her, as well as the stiffness left by the gout permitted. He caught up his hat and his cloak as he passed through the hall.

“Never mind her, Lucy, I can’t wait; she’s gone to sleep, I should think. Give her a kiss for me, and ask her how she likes being my Lady Laura.”

It all seemed to pass in a minute, before Jane had time to gather her bewildered senses. She said something to him about the danger there might be of his catching the fever, but he was deaf to it all, and walked down the garden path, fastening his cloak. Jane knew how useless it would be to repeat her words, and she stood at the open door with Lucy, and watched him out at the gate by the light of the moon, which had struggled from amidst the grey clouds.

Lucy ran back to the foot of the stairs and called to Laura with all her might. But there came no response.

“I think she must have gone to sleep, as papa said, Jane. How strange!”

“I will see, my dear. You go back to the drawing-room, Lucy, and ring the bell for tea.”

A disagreeable fear had come over Jane Chesney’s heart that Laura was not up-stairs; that she had stolen out again to the garden to meet Mr. Carlton. She looked into Laura’s room, and spoke. It was empty.

“Yes! with him again!” she murmured. “I will go after her, for it shall not be.”

She went softly out at the front door, and walked down the wet gravel in her thin home shoes. But nothing came of it. It was quite evident that her sister was not there; and an idea arose to Jane that Laura must have gone out with Mr. Carlton.

Could it be possible that she had so far forgotten herself as to go out walking with him at night, in the face and eyes of South Wennock? In the bitterness of the conviction that it was so, Jane almost hoped that they might be met by her father, for she was beginning to find that she was not herself strong enough to cope with this.

She asked for a light, and went into Laura’s room and looked for the black cloth mantle and bonnet that she ordinarily wore. They were not in their places: a proof that her suspicions were correct.

Jane stood for a moment, her elbow resting on a chest of drawers, her head pressed upon her hand. She could do nothing, except wait until Laura came in and then remonstrate with her. “This is the result of my having discovered the meetings in the garden,” thought Jane. “She feared to trust herself there again.”

Jane returned to the drawing-room. The tea-things waited on the table, and Lucy looked up with an air of expectancy.

“Where’s Laura, Jane? Is she coming?”

What was Jane to say to the child? It was very desirable that the fact of Laura’s absence from the house should be concealed from her; indeed Jane trusted it would not transpire beyond herself. She put Lucy off with an evasive answer, and told her she might get out the book of fairy tales again that she had been reading in the afternoon.

“But are you not going to make tea now, Jane?”

“Not just yet, dear. Papa’s away, and there’s no hurry. I have a bit of work that I will do first.”

Of course she so spoke hoping Laura would come in. She reached out her work and did it; very prosy work it was; the mending some wristbands of a shirt of Captain Chesney’s. And the time went on until the clock struck nine: Lucy’s bedtime, and the child had not had her tea!

Where could Laura be?

Jane began to feel angry at the suspense, the perplexity altogether. She could not longer delay the tea, and then the household and