‘How deep it is,’ she thought. ‘What a fool I am to deliberate. It will be over in a minute, and it will be so sweet never to dream again.’
As she mused in this manner, she gave a sudden leap and was over before the passersby could catch hold of her clothing. They gave the alarm at once, and a policeman, who was half way down on the other side, heard it and came hurrying up. But the waters of old Father Thames, who has received so many of his despairing children to his bosom, had already closed over the bright hair and beautiful face of Nell Llewellyn.
CHAPTER VI.
All the women who had witnessed the accident hung over the parapet of the bridge, screaming at the top of their voices after the manner of their kind, whilst the men ran off for assistance. The police were summoned; boats, with grappling irons, were put out, and every effort made to rescue the unfortunate suicide, but in vain. Nothing was seen or heard of the body. No crafts had been immediately under the bridge at the moment. Two or three empty barges were moored in its vicinity, but their black beams could tell no tales. The search was not given up until it was pronounced unavailing, and the police went back to report the circumstance at headquarters. Next morning there appeared a paragraph in the dailies with the headline—‘Mysterious Suicide from Waterloo Bridge.’
‘Last evening, as the large audiences were turning out of the transpontine theatres, and wending their way homewards, a thrilling accident, or what may have been so, occurred on Waterloo Bridge. A tall, lady-like, well-dressed young woman, was walking quietly amongst the passengers, apparently as soberly-disposed as any amongst them, when, without sound or warning, she suddenly vaulted over the parapet and dashed into the river. The act was so unpremeditated, and took the bystanders so completely by surprise, that there was no opportunity of preventing the terrible catastrophe. The peaceful crowd was immediately transformed into an agitated mass; all striving to give the alarm, or aid in rescuing the unfortunate woman. The police behaved magnificently on the occasion. In less time than we could write the words, boats were put out and every possible assistance given, but no trace of the body could be found though the grappling-irons were used in every direction. It is supposed that she must have fractured her skull against one of the empty barges moored in proximity to the bridge, and sunk beyond recall. The occurrence created a painful sensation among the bystanders. Women were fainting, and men rushing about in all directions. Some people, who had followed the unfortunate woman across the bridge from the Strand, describe her to have had a tall and very elegant figure, and say that she was dressed in a black mantle, and wore a broad, black hat with a drooping feather. Everybody seems agreed that she did not belong to the lower classes, and it is to be feared, from the determination with which she sprang over the parapet, that her loss can be ascribed to nothing but deliberate suicide. The police are on the look-out for the body, which will probably turn up further down the river, when some light may be thrown on the identity of the unfortunate lady. The strangers who walked in her wake across the bridge observed that she possessed an abundant quantity of bright chestnut hair, coiled low upon her neck, and that her hands, which were bare, were long and white. This makes the fifteenth suicide that has taken place from Waterloo Bridge in twelve months.’
Mr Sterndale, the solicitor, sitting alone in his office, read this paragraph, and was very much struck by it, especially as Warrender, Lord Ilfracombe’s butler, had been to see him not half an hour ago with the intelligence that Miss Llewellyn had left the house the night before and not been home since. Mr Sterndale, with his cynical ideas concerning women, had not paid much attention nor attached much importance to the man’s statement. He thought the quondam housekeeper of Grosvenor Square had found another place, or another lover, and no longer held herself responsible to the earl or anybody else for what she might choose to do. He had told Warrender that he did not think there was any reason for alarm; that Miss Llewellyn was quite old enough to take care of herself, and that she had probably gone to visit friends and spent the night with them. She would be sure to return for her boxes. The butler had not seemed satisfied.
‘But, begging your pardon, sir, the maid who saw her last, Susan, says she was looking very ill, poor lady! She said she was going into the square for a breath of fresh air, and it was past nine o’clock then. Susan and I waited up for Miss Llewellyn till twelve, and then I only lay down on the bench in the hall till four this morning. But she never came back, and, begging your pardon, sir, it’s what Miss Llewellyn haven’t never done, not since she’s been under his lordship’s protection.’
‘Ah, well, Warrender, she’s got her orders to quit, you know, and I daresay she considers she can do as she likes, as indeed there’s no reason she should not. She’s a very obstinate young woman or she would have left the house before now, and she’s putting me to a great deal of inconvenience. Indeed, if she does not leave soon, she will compel me to exercise the authority vested in me by Lord Ilfracombe, and order her to pack up her boxes and go.’
The old servant looked troubled.
‘Oh, I hope not, sir, I hope not. Perhaps it’s not my place to say anything, but Miss Llewellyn has been a kind mistress to us all, and so much at home, and—there, there, I don’t understand these things, of course, and what’s for his lordship’s good is for the good of all of us; but there’s not a servant in the hall but will be sorry that poor Miss Llewellyn is to be the sufferer. She had a kind heart, poor thing! if any lady had.’