The Greatest Murder Mysteries of Mary Elizabeth Braddon. Mary Elizabeth Braddon

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СКАЧАТЬ have come in for a few minutes’ chat before I go to bed,” said Robert, settling himself very comfortably before the cheerful fire. “Would you object to a cigar, Mrs. Marks? I mean, of course, to my smoking one,” he added, explanatorily.

      “Not at all, sir.”

      “It would be a good ’un her objectin’ to a bit o’ ‘bacca,” growled Mr. Marks, “when me and the customers smokes all day.”

      Robert lighted his cigar with a gilt-paper match of Phoebe’s making that adorned the chimney-piece, and took half a dozen reflective puffs before he spoke.

      “I want you to tell me all about Mount Stanning, Mr. Marks,” he said, presently.

      “Then that’s pretty soon told,” replied Luke, with a harsh, grating laugh. “Of all the dull holes as ever a man set foot in, this is about the dullest. Not that the business don’t pay pretty tidy; I don’t complain of that; but I should ha’ liked a public at Chelmsford, or Brentwood, or Romford, or some place where there’s a bit of life in the streets; and I might have had it,” he added, discontentedly, “if folks hadn’t been so precious stingy.”

      As her husband muttered this complaint in a grumbling undertone, Phoebe looked up from her work and spoke to him.

      “We forgot the brew-house door, Luke,” she said. “Will you come with me and help me put up the bar?”

      “The brew-house door can bide for to-night,” said Mr. Marks; “I ain’t agoin’ to move now. I’ve seated myself for a comfortable smoke.”

      He took a long clay pipe from a corner of the fender as he spoke, and began to fill it deliberately.

      “I don’t feel easy about that brew-house door, Luke,” remonstrated his wife; “there are always tramps about, and they can get in easily when the bar isn’t up.”

      “Go and put the bar up yourself, then, can’t you?” answered Mr. Marks.

      “It’s too heavy for me to lift.”

      “Then let it bide, if you’re too fine a lady to see to it yourself. You’re very anxious all of a sudden about this here brew-house door. I suppose you don’t want me to open my mouth to this here gent, that’s about it. Oh, you needn’t frown at me to stop my speaking! You’re always putting in your tongue and clipping off my words before I’ve half said ’em; but I won’t stand it.”

      “Do you hear? I won’t stand it!”

      Phoebe Marks shrugged her shoulders, folded her work, shut her work-box, and crossing her hands in her lap, sat with her gray eyes fixed upon her husband’s bull-like face.

      “Then you don’t particularly care to live at Mount Stanning?” said Robert, politely, as if anxious to change the conversation.

      “No, I don’t,” answered Luke; “and I don’t care who knows it; and, as I said before, if folks hadn’t been so precious stingy, I might have had a public in a thrivin’ market town, instead of this tumble-down old place, where a man has his hair blowed off his head on a windy day. What’s fifty pound, or what’s a hundred pound —”

      “Luke! Luke!”

      “No, you’re not goin’ to stop my mouth with all your ‘Luke, Lukes!’” answered Mr. Marks to his wife’s remonstrance. “I say again, what’s a hundred pound?”

      “No,” answered Robert Audley, with wonderful distinctness, and addressing his words to Luke Marks, but fixing his eyes upon Phoebe’s anxious face. “What, indeed, is a hundred pounds to a man possessed of the power which you hold, or rather which your wife holds, over the person in question.”

      “Phoebe’s face, at all times almost colorless, seemed scarcely capable of growing paler; but as her eyelids drooped under Robert Audley’s searching glance, a visible change came over the pallid hues of her complexion.

      “A quarter to twelve,” said Robert, looking at his watch.

      “Late hours for such a quiet village as Mount Stanning. Good-night, my worthy host. Good-night, Mrs. Marks. You needn’t send me my shaving water till nine o’clock to-morrow morning.”

      Chapter 18

       Robert Receives a Visitor Whom he had Scarcely Expected.

       Table of Contents

      Eleven o’clock struck the next morning, and found Mr. Robert Audley still lounging over the well ordered little breakfast table, with one of his dogs at each side of his arm-chair, regarding him with watchful eyes and opened mouths, awaiting the expected morsel of ham or toast. Robert had a county paper on his knees, and made a feeble effort now and then to read the first page, which was filled with advertisements of farming stock, quack medicines, and other interesting matter.

      The weather had changed, and the snow, which had for the last few days been looming blackly in the frosty sky, fell in great feathery flakes against the windows, and lay piled in the little bit of garden-ground without.

      The long, lonely road leading toward Audley seemed untrodden by a footstep, as Robert Audley looked out at the wintry landscape.

      “Lively,” he said, “for a man used to the fascinations of Temple Bar.”

      As he watched the snow-flakes falling every moment thicker and faster upon the lonely road, he was surprised by seeing a brougham driving slowly up the hill.

      “I wonder what unhappy wretch has too restless a spirit to stop at home on such a morning as this,” he muttered, as he returned to the arm-chair by the fire.

      He had only reseated himself a few moments when Phoebe Marks entered the room to announce Lady Audley.

      “Lady Audley! Pray beg her to come in,” said Robert; and then, as Phoebe left the room to usher in this unexpected visitor, he muttered between his teeth —“A false move, my lady, and one I never looked for from you.”

      Lucy Audley was radiant on this cold and snowy January morning. Other people’s noses are rudely assailed by the sharp fingers of the grim ice-king, but not my lady’s; other people’s lips turn pale and blue with the chilling influence of the bitter weather, but my lady’s pretty little rosebud of a mouth retained its brightest coloring and cheeriest freshness.

      She was wrapped in the very sables which Robert Audley had brought from Russia, and carried a muff that the young man thought seemed almost as big as herself.

      She looked a childish, helpless, babyfied little creature; and Robert looked down upon her with some touch of pity in his eyes, as she came up to the hearth by which he was standing, and warmed her tiny gloved hands at the blaze.

      “What a morning, Mr. Audley!” she said, “what a morning!”

      “Yes, indeed! Why did you come out in such weather?”

      “Because I wished to see you — particularly.”

      “Indeed!”

      “Yes,” СКАЧАТЬ