Esmeralda was the Duchess of Belfayre!
[CHAPTER XXXI.]
The duke was dead—long live the duke!
All was confusion at Belfayre, and it was not only Trafford who was stunned by the sudden shock. All men must die, and the duke was an old man; but he had seemed so well and strong that those who had seen and talked with him on the night of the party were startled by the news of his death, which was soon flashing over the world. The telegraph-girl at Belfayre was overwhelmed by the number of messages going and coming.
Under ordinary circumstances, Lady Ada must have left Belfayre at once; but Lilias was, for the time, at any rate, completely prostrated by the suddenness of the blow. Like Esmeralda, she had loved the old man dearly, and Lady Ada could do no other than offer to remain with her.
Trafford moved about among the frightened and excited household like a man dazed. He almost forgot that his wife had left him—had flown with his closest and dearest friend—until Lilias came to him, with white face and quivering lips, to tell him that neither she nor Barker could find Esmeralda.
“Esmeralda!” he repeated, vaguely. Then a shudder ran through him; but he controlled his voice, and answered, almost carelessly—too carelessly—if Lilias had been in a condition to notice: “She has gone off to London,” he said in a dry voice—“to—to Lady Wyndover’s. She went up unexpectedly, and—and left word with me to tell you.”
Lilias repeated:
“To London?”