CHAPTER XXXII.
In a room which we have before described in Coldenham Castle sat the same stately, proud-looking, majestic dame to whom Ralph Woodhall had paid a brief visit of ceremony before his final departure from his father's house. The unconcealed gray hair upon the broad, powerful, masculine brow, added not less, perhaps, to the grave dignity of her aspect, than the keen, finely-cut features, and the stern black eye. There was a look of some discontent upon her countenance as she opened, one after another, a number of letters which had been placed upon the table before her, but no doubt, no hesitation, no remorse; and yet she might very well have felt all, or either.
"Not caught him yet?" she said, bitterly; "God's my life, thief-takers must have lost their skill! But they must have him soon. I have tracked him to his lair, and it seems they have unearthed him. Surely they can run him down now. It must be this foolish confusion in the country about Monmouth which has favored his evasion. Methinks I will go over myself. Men are but women nowadays, and it is time that women should act the part of men. I will soon find means to catch him. I fear me Coldenham is too weak and soft, and the old lord too rash and hasty; Robert, though the best head among them, too politic and wily. It needs to see clearly, and judge wisely, and strike boldly. A keen sword is of no great use without a strong hand. I will soon do it if I go; and let me but catch him, I will so pile up crimes upon his head that he will need a wiser jury than England can afford to set him free."
This was partly murmured in distinct words, partly thought; and while her meditation on that subject continued, she retained in her hand unopened the next letter of the pile, hardly regarding it. When she had done, she looked for a moment at the back, and said, "The old man's hand! Why does he write to me, I wonder?" and, tearing open the seal, she read the contents. They seemed to affect her more than she expected, for one of those strange changes came over her countenance which I have before described.
"Ha!" she exclaimed, "ha! how sits the wind now?" and, turning to the beginning, she re-read the letter to an end. It was to the following effect, and much more brief than good Mr. Woodhall's epistles usually were:
"My dear Lady and Cousin,
"I write to you because I am informed, on authority which to me would be beyond doubt as proof of any other assertion, that, although no one should be better aware than yourself of the innocence of my son Ralph in the matter of his cousin Henry Woodhall's death, you are urging on our kinsman Lord Woodhall to persecute him with great severity, and also are engaged in seeking causes of offense which may render him obnoxious to the court, and perhaps even prejudice him before a jury. This information having been communicated to me without any injunction to secrecy, I think it but just to yourself and to my son--although I believe that some error must exist--to make known to you the fact, in order that you may at once give immediate contradiction to the report, should it be false. Should it be out of your power to contradict it, however--which I do not believe--I have to warn you that the consequences to yourself may be more dangerous than you imagine; that all your proceedings in this case will be at once brought to light; and that many things, now apparently buried forever in the darkness of the past, may have to be brought forward in the eye of day. Trusting that, with the firmness and decision which belong to your character, you will at once deny the truth of the information which has reached me, I beg to subscribe myself, et cetera."
Lady Coldenham gazed upon the paper with a look in which many an evil expression mingled with surprise. "Insolent old fool!" was her first exclamation; "does he dare? Who could have told him of this? his fellow-simpleton, Lord Woodhall himself, I suppose. Nay, nay, there can be no communication between them. It must have come from some other source; whence, I can not divine. The old man Stilling surely could not--nay, how could he? he knows not of it. It is very strange. And this threat, too. The son threatened, and he shall rue it. The father threatens, and he may rue it too. Deny the truth? Nay, I will confirm it with 'the firmness and determination which belong to me.' It is time that I should know to what these menaces tend. If I am to have a foe, let me meet him in front;" and, taking up a pen, she wrote hastily upon a sheet of paper a few bold lines to the following effect:
"Sir,--What I dare to do, I dare to avow. Your son Ralph murdered his cousin Henry Woodhall. I have urged, and shall urge Lord Woodhall, the bereaved father, to suffer no weak remains of affection for an unworthy object to prevent him from punishing the offender to the utmost. I, for one, should prefer to have a man hanged out of my family, rather than to have a murderer left living in it. Your cousin,
"Esther Coldenham."
This done and the letter sealed, she rang the silver bell upon her table, and, as soon as a servant appeared, handed him the tender epistle, saying, "Dispatch that by a messenger immediately."
"May it please your ladyship," replied the man, "Mr. Woodhall's messenger is waiting."
"Then let him have it and be gone," replied Lady Coldenham; "his master can't have my answer too soon."
When she was again alone, Lady Coldenham once more read her cousin's letter, and it seemed less satisfactory to her than even at first; for, with all the evil passions which it evidently stirred up, and which painted themselves upon her countenance, there was an expression of doubt, of hesitation, of dread, which that face had seldom, if ever, before borne.
She had great power over herself, however. She was resolute, persevering, undaunted in purpose. Little had she ever scrupled to do in life; and no fear had ever got sufficient hold upon her to deter her from any act on which she had determined.
Whatever it was she dreaded on the present occasion, she suffered not the impression to remain upon her mind for more than a few moments. Then, casting it from her as something that was used and done with, she turned to the letters again, perused all those which she had not read before, made notes upon such as referred to business, and then calmly and deliberately ordered every thing to be prepared for a journey into Dorsetshire within three hours. Her own arrangements were very rapidly made, and the early time of dinner was approaching, when the peculiar servant who attended upon that room entered with another letter in his hand. Lady Coldenham took it and looked at the address. The moment she did so, a paleness came over her face; and the man could see that her hand shook as she broke the seal. He did not venture to remain, however, and retired with his usual noiseless step. But the door was not yet quite closed when he heard a cry, as if of pain, and then the sound of a heavy fall, and, running hastily back, he found his mistress stretched senseless on the floor. The letter lay wide open at a little distance from her, and he thought fit to look at it before he called for aid. Only one word, written in a fine, bold hand, in the middle of the page, was to be seen. It was, "Beware!" and, as he could make nothing of it, he called the waiting-woman and the housekeeper, and a number of other servants, who soon, by their united efforts, brought Lady Coldenham to herself. For a moment or two after her eyes opened, she lay quite still where they had placed her; but then, as if moved by some sudden passion, she started up, snatched the letter from the floor, and uttered some wild and whirling words which no one could rightly comprehend.
"It is false!" she cried; "it is a forgery! They are in a league to frighten me; but they shall find themselves mistaken. Ay, they shall find themselves mistaken!" and, after tearing the letter into a thousand pieces, she sunk slowly into a chair, and leaned her head upon her hand.
"Is the coach come?" she asked, as if not fully aware of how short a space of time had elapsed since she gave her orders.
"No, my lady," replied the waiting-woman "it is not time yet. But, as your ladyship has not been well, would it not be better to delay your journey till to-morrow?"
"Not an hour--not a minute!" replied Lady Coldenham, sternly; and, rising up from her chair as stately as ever, she said, "You may withdraw. Let me know when dinner is ready."