A Group of Noble Dames | Page 6

Court a long way off, and was
himself visible from the windows on that side; for which reason he
hoped that Betty might perceive him coming, as she sometimes did on
his return from an outing, and run to the door or wave her handkerchief.
But there was no sign. He inquired for his wife as soon as he set foot to
earth.
'Mistress is away. She was called to London, sir.'

'And Mistress Betty?' said the Squire blankly.
'Gone likewise, sir, for a little change. Mistress has left a letter for you.'
The note explained nothing, merely stating that she had posted to
London on her own affairs, and had taken the child to give her a
holiday. On the fly-leaf were some words from Betty herself to the
same effect, evidently written in a state of high jubilation at the idea of
her jaunt. Squire Dornell murmured a few expletives, and submitted to
his disappointment. How long his wife meant to stay in town she did
not say; but on investigation he found that the carriage had been packed
with sufficient luggage for a sojourn of two or three weeks.
King's-Hintock Court was in consequence as gloomy as Falls-Park had
been. He had lost all zest for hunting of late, and had hardly attended a
meet that season. Dornell read and re-read Betty's scrawl, and hunted
up some other such notes of hers to look over, this seeming to be the
only pleasure there was left for him. That they were really in London
he learnt in a few days by another letter from Mrs. Dornell, in which
she explained that they hoped to be home in about a week, and that she
had had no idea he was coming back to King's-Hintock so soon, or she
would not have gone away without telling him.
Squire Dornell wondered if, in going or returning, it had been her plan
to call at the Reynards' place near Melchester, through which city their
journey lay. It was possible that she might do this in furtherance of her
project, and the sense that his own might become the losing game was
harassing.
He did not know how to dispose of himself, till it occurred to him that,
to get rid of his intolerable heaviness, he would invite some friends to
dinner and drown his cares in grog and wine. No sooner was the
carouse decided upon than he put it in hand; those invited being mostly
neighbouring landholders, all smaller men than himself, members of
the hunt; also the doctor from Evershead, and the like-- some of them
rollicking blades whose presence his wife would not have
countenanced had she been at home. 'When the cat's away--!' said the
Squire.

They arrived, and there were indications in their manner that they
meant to make a night of it. Baxby of Sherton Castle was late, and they
waited a quarter of an hour for him, he being one of the liveliest of
Dornell's friends; without whose presence no such dinner as this would
be considered complete, and, it may be added, with whose presence no
dinner which included both sexes could be conducted with strict
propriety. He had just returned from London, and the Squire was
anxious to talk to him--for no definite reason; but he had lately
breathed the atmosphere in which Betty was.
At length they heard Baxby driving up to the door, whereupon the host
and the rest of his guests crossed over to the dining-room. In a moment
Baxby came hastily in at their heels, apologizing for his lateness.
'I only came back last night, you know,' he said; 'and the truth o't is, I
had as much as I could carry.' He turned to the Squire. 'Well,
Dornell--so cunning Reynard has stolen your little ewe lamb? Ha, ha!'
'What?' said Squire Dornell vacantly, across the dining-table, round
which they were all standing, the cold March sunlight streaming in
upon his full-clean shaven face.
'Surely th'st know what all the town knows?--you've had a letter by this
time?--that Stephen Reynard has married your Betty? Yes, as I'm a
living man. It was a carefully-arranged thing: they parted at once, and
are not to meet for five or six years. But, Lord, you must know!'
A thud on the floor was the only reply of the Squire. They quickly
turned. He had fallen down like a log behind the table, and lay
motionless on the oak boards.
Those at hand hastily bent over him, and the whole group were in
confusion. They found him to be quite unconscious, though puffing and
panting like a blacksmith's bellows. His face was livid, his veins
swollen, and beads of perspiration stood upon his brow.
'What's happened to him?' said several.

'An apoplectic fit,' said the doctor