Over and over again in the still hours of the night he related the grim story. Sometimes he fancied Elsie was standing by and would entreat her to take away her dying curse.
“I did not mean it, Elsie! on my soul I did not!” he more than once cried, and his miserable watcher fell on her knees and prayed to God that his words might be true.
But it was a terrible time. Mrs. Henderson’s thick brown hair grew gray, and her once comely face lined and haggard. She let it be understood in the household “that the young master” was suffering from delirium tremens, and as Henderson was known to have been drinking heavily lately, this account of his illness was universally believed.
The groom, Jack Reid, went up to the house each morning to ask after him, but he made no attempt to see his master. The events of the night on which Brown Bess had died seemed to have had a sobering effect on this man. For in his own mind Reid now never doubted that Henderson had intended to kill him when by mischance he killed the horse. Their frequent quarrels, and something in Henderson’s lowering looks when he had proposed to borrow the dog-cart and Brown Bess, had rather alarmed Reid at the time, and for this reason he had purposely delayed his return home until he thought his master would be absent at Captain North’s supper party.
Then, when Henderson had gone into the stable, and flung himself in his grief down by his dying horse, Reid had seen the muzzle of a revolver suddenly appear from one of the pockets of his overcoat. It instantly struck the man at this moment who had shot Brown Bess. The bullet intended for himself had destroyed the animal that Henderson loved best, and Reid gave a little shudder when he thought of his own narrow escape.
But he said nothing of his suspicions. But a day or so afterward he walked over to Captain North’s place, and after telling some of the men about the stables of his master’s illness, he casually inquired what time the “young squire” had arrived at Newstead on the night of the Captain’s supper party.
“Late,” was the reply he received. “Nearly an hour later than the other gents. It wouldn’t be less than a quarter to ten o’clock when he came, and he had a strange sort of look when he did. Ay, it was the d. t. coming on, no doubt.”
This answer satisfied Reid that he had not been mistaken. Henderson had had time then to reach Newstead after he had fired the shot in Henley Wood that had killed Brown Bess. And the idea frightened Reid. He had not, in fact, believed Henderson before capable of deliberate murder. He knew he had not gone to the ridge above Fern Dene intending to shoot poor Elsie Wray. The girl’s threats and taunts had maddened him, and in a moment of uncontrollable passion he had killed her. But this attempt on Reid’s own life was a very different affair. It showed the man that he had to deal with a stronger and more savage and vindictive nature than he had expected. He had bullied and traded on Henderson’s secret, never supposing that he dare attempt to throw off the yoke. But he had gone too far, and Reid now admitted this to himself, and determined to be more careful and more prudent in the future.
But Henderson was ill for many days, and it was weeks after Brown Bess’ death that Reid first saw his master. They met in the avenue by chance, while Henderson was walking with his mother, and leaning on her arm, for his strength was completely shattered. The faces of both men flushed when they saw each other, but Reid respectfully touched his hat as he approached the mother and son.
“I hope you are feeling better, sir?” he asked, and for a moment he stopped.