Emily Fox-Seton : being The making of a marchioness and The methods of Lady WalderhurstBurnett, Frances Hodgson
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Emily Fox-Seton : being The making of a marchioness and The methods of Lady Walderhurst
Burnett, Frances Hodgson
Aristocracy (Social class) -- Fiction; Household employees -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
"That little woman," he said, "lives every day through twenty-four hours
of hell. One can see it in her eyes, even when she professes to smile at
the brute for decency's sake. The awfulness of a woman's forced smile at
the devil she is tied to, loathing him and bearing in her soul the
thing, blood itself could not wipe out. Ugh! I've seen it once before,
and I recognised it in her again. There will be a bad end to this."
There probably would have been, with the aid of unlimited brandy and
unrestrained devil, some outbreak so gross that the social laws which
rule men who are "officers and gentlemen" could not have ignored or
overlooked it. But the end came in an unexpected way, and Osborn was
saved from open ignominy by an accident.
On a certain day when he had drunk heavily and had shut Hester up with
him for an hour's torture, after leaving her writhing and suffocating
with sobs, he went to examine some newly bought firearms. In twenty
minutes it was he who lay upon the floor writhing and suffocating, and
but a few minutes later he was a dead man. A charge from a gun he had
believed unloaded had finished him.
* * * * *
Lady Walderhurst was the kindest of women, as the world knew. She sent
for little Mrs. Osborn and her child, and was tender goodness itself to
them.
Hester had been in England four years, and Lord Oswyth had a brother as
robust as himself, when one heavenly summer afternoon, as the two women
sat on the lawn drinking little cups of tea, Hester made a singular
revelation, and made it without moving a muscle of her small
countenance.
"I always intended to tell you, Emily," she began quietly, "and I will
tell you now."
"What, dear?" said Emily, holding out to her a plate of tiny buttered
scones. "Have some of these nice, little hot ones."
"Thank you." Hester took one of the nice, little hot ones, but did not
begin to eat it. Instead, she held it untouched and let her eyes rest on
the brilliant flower terraces spread out below. "What I meant to tell
you was this. The gun was not loaded, the gun Alec shot himself with,
when he laid it aside."
Emily put down her tea-cup hastily.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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