Wyllard's Weird: A NovelBraddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
General
Wyllard's Weird: A Novel
Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
Murder -- Fiction; Mystery and detective stories
Bothwell rode over on Sunday morning as he had threatened, and
appeared at the parish church with his cousin and Hilda, much to the
astonishment of some of the parishioners who had suspected and almost
condemned him. They were now veering round, and had begun to inform
each other that Mr. Grahame had been a much-wronged man, and that
there was evidently a great deal more in the mystery of the strange
girl's death than any one in Bodmin had yet been able to fathom. No
doubt Mr. Distin, the famous criminal lawyer, knew all about it, and
his cross-examination of Bothwell Grahame had been only a blind to
throw the press and the public off the right scent. The very fact of
his coming all the way from London to attend a Cornish inquest argued
an occult knowledge, a shadow behind the throne. Some among Bothwell's
late detractors hinted that the business involved a personage of very
high rank, and were disposed to transfer their suspicions to a local
peer, who was not so popular as he might have been, having but recently
refused to remit more than one-third of his farmers' rents, or to renew
leases at less than half the previous rental, while he was known to
have narrow views about ground game.
And now Bodmin beheld Bothwell Grahame seated in the Penmorval pew
between his cousin and Hilda Heathcote, and Bodmin opined that his
engagement to Miss Heathcote must be a settled thing, since it was
known that he had taken a house at Trevena, and was building and
improving there on a large scale. There were some who approved, and
some who condemned; some who wondered that Squire Heathcote could
allow his only sister to marry such a reprobate, others who declared
that Bothwell was a high-spirited fellow, who had been a fine soldier,
and would make a capital army-coach; but these differences of opinion
helped to sustain conversation, which sometimes sank to a very low ebb
in Bodmin for lack of matter.
It was a lovely autumn day, and Bothwell strolled in the rose-garden
with his sweetheart, between luncheon and five-o'clock tea, talking
over their house and their future.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account