It was late; but Mrs Brandon had another duty to perform, one which she did, with her mind now confused, now seeming to see plainly the whole of the plot. But there was that letter—those lines in Charley Vining’s hand. But for them, all would have been plain.
At times she was moved by a burning indignation; at others she weakly wept; but before returning to Ella’s bedside, she took a large sheet of paper, secured to it the three missives she had brought from the bedside, and then wrote under them:
“Charles Vining,—The victim of a cruel plot—Ella Bedford—was enticed from the home I had found for her by Maximilian Bray, from whom she escaped, to crawl, dying, to my house, where she now lies, to breathe her last in peace. As an English gentleman, I ask you, Have you had any hand in this? If not, explain how a letter should be sent to her in your handwriting. I can see part; but the rest remains for you to clear. Emily Brandon.”
This letter Mrs Brandon carefully sealed, with its contents, and then returned to watch by Ella’s bedside.
Soon after eight that morning she dispatched the note by a trusty messenger, to be delivered into no other hands than Charley Vining’s—little wotting the events to take place that day—and into Charley Vining’s hands that letter was placed, as we have seen.
Sir Philip Vining’s coachman was the first to recover himself and to go to his master’s assistance, just as, half stunned and confused, Sir Philip was struggling to his feet.
“Not much hurt, I think!” said Sir Philip. “But where is Mr Bray?”
“There he lies, Sir Philip,” said the coachman.
And together they went to raise the unfortunate companion of their ride, insensible now, and bleeding from a cut on the temple.
“Beg pardon, Sir Philip,” said the coachman appealingly. “I’ve been with you fifteen years now; I hope you won’t turn me off for this job. I was driving as carefully as I could.”