Run to Earth: A Novel

by M. E. Braddon

"Let me answer those questions, Sir Reginald Eversleigh," said a voice from the doorway.

The young baronet turned and recognized the speaker. It was his uncle's old friend, Captain Copplestone, who had made his way into the room unheard while Reginald had been giving his evidence. He was still seated in his invalid-chair—still unable to move without its aid.

"Let me answer those questions," he repeated. "I have only just heard of Lady Eversleigh's painful position. I beg to be sworn immediately, for my evidence may be of some importance to that lady."

Reginald sat down, unable to contest the captain's right to be heard, though he would fain have done so.

Lady Eversleigh for the first time that day gave evidence of some slight emotion. She raised her eyes to Captain Copplestone's bronzed face with a tearful glance, expressive of gratitude and confidence.

The captain was duly sworn, and then proceeded to give his evidence, in brief, abrupt sentences, without waiting to be questioned.

"You ask where Lady Eversleigh spent the night of her husband's death, and how she spent it. I can answer both those questions. She spent that night in my room, nursing a sick old man, who was mad with the tortures of rheumatic gout, and weeping over Sir Oswald's refusal to believe in her innocence.

"You'll ask, perhaps, how she came to be in my apartments on that night. I'll answer you in a few words. Before leaving the castle she came to my room, and asked my old servant to admit her. She had been very kind and attentive to me throughout my illness. My servant is a gruff and tough old fellow, but he is grateful for any kindness that's shown to his master. He admitted Lady Eversleigh to see me, ill as I was. She told me the whole story which she told her husband. 'He refused to believe me, Captain Copplestone,' she said; 'he who once loved me so dearly refused to believe me. So I come to you, his best and oldest friend, in the hope that you may think better of me; and that some day, when I am far away, and time has softened my husband's heart towards me, you may speak a good word in my behalf.' And I did believe her. Yes, Mr. Eversleigh—or Sir Reginald Eversleigh—I did, and I do, believe that lady."

"Captain Copplestone," said the coroner; "we really do not require all these particulars; the question is—when did Lady Eversleigh enter your rooms, and when did she quit them?"

"She came to me at dusk, and she did not leave my rooms until the next morning, after the discovery of my poor friend's death. When she had told me her story, and her intention of leaving the castle immediately, I begged her to remain until the next day. She would be safe in my rooms, I told her. No one but myself and my old servant would know that she had not really left the castle; and the next day, when Sir Oswald's passion had been calmed by reflection, I should be able, perhaps, to intercede successfully for the wife whose innocence I most implicitly believed, in spite of all the circumstances that had conspired to condemn her. Lady Eversleigh knew my influence over her husband; and, after some persuasion, consented to take my advice. My diabolical gout happened to be a good deal worse than usual that night, and my friend's wife assisted my servant to nurse me, with the patience of an angel, or a sister of charity. From the beginning to the end of that fatal night she never left my apartments. She entered my room before the will could have been executed, and she did not leave it until after her husband's death."