BRANDON COYLE’S WIFE.
BRANDON COYLE’S WIFE
A SEQUEL TO
“A SKELETON IN THE CLOSET.”
BY
MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH,
_Author of “‘Em,’” “The Unloved Wife,” “Unknown,” “Gloria,” “The Hidden
Hand,” “For Woman’s Love,” “A Leap in the Dark,” “The Lost Lady of
Lone,” etc., etc._
[Illustration: [Logo]]
NEW YORK:
_G. W. Dillingham Co., Publishers_,
MDCCCXCVIII.
COPYRIGHT, 1878 and 1893,
BY ROBERT BONNER’S SONS.
(_All rights reserved._)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. A REJECTED BRIDEGROOM.
CHAPTER II. OUR EXILE.
CHAPTER III. A SHOCK.
CHAPTER IV. THE WANDERER.
CHAPTER V. THE SEARCH.
CHAPTER VI. THE DISCOVERY.
CHAPTER VII. DAWNING DAY.
CHAPTER VIII. MORE DISCOVERIES.
CHAPTER IX. KIT’S HOME.
CHAPTER X. KIT’S DAYS.
CHAPTER XI. A DEMON’S DEED.
CHAPTER XII. A FATAL JOURNEY.
CHAPTER XIII. ENTRAPPED.
CHAPTER XIV. ARRESTED.
CHAPTER XV. HOW THE MURDER WAS DISCOVERED.
CHAPTER XVI. VALDIMIR DESPARDE’S EXAMINATION.
CHAPTER XVII. THE RESULT.
CHAPTER XVIII. A STORM OF TROUBLE.
CHAPTER XIX. THAT SECRET.
CHAPTER XX. AT CASTLE MONTJOIE.
CHAPTER XXI. DREAM OR VISION?
CHAPTER XXII. MYSTERIES.
CHAPTER XXIII. VIVIENNE’S WOE.
CHAPTER XXIV. ARIELLE’S VISITORS ARRIVE.
CHAPTER XXV. THE TEST OF LOVE.
CHAPTER XXVI. A VISIT TO VALDIMIR.
CHAPTER XXVII. ANTOINETTE.
CHAPTER XXVIII. ANTOINETTE’S REPARATION.
CHAPTER XXIX. THE MEETING.
CHAPTER XXX. A LOVE CHASE.
CHAPTER XXXI. FROM BEYOND.
CHAPTER XXXII. DARKNESS BEFORE DAWN.
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE TRIAL.
CHAPTER XXXIV. THE ARRAIGNMENT.
CHAPTER XXXV. THE VERDICT.
CHAPTER XXXVI. VICTORY.
CHAPTER XXXVII. AT DELORAINE PARK.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. THOSE BITTER, BITTER WORDS.
CHAPTER XXXIX. MR. ADRIAN FLEMING’S EXPEDITION.
CHAPTER XL. WHAT THOSE BITTER WORDS MEANT.
CHAPTER XLI. LORD BEAUDEVERE’S STORY TOLD BY A CHRISTMAS FIRESIDE.
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BRANDON COYLE’S WIFE.
CHAPTER I.
A REJECTED BRIDEGROOM.
He’ll be forgotten—like old debts
By persons who are used to borrow;
Forgotten—like the sun that sets,
When shines the new one on the morrow;
Forgotten like the luscious peach
That blessed the school-boy last September;
Forgotten—like the maiden speech,
That all men praise and none remember.
PRAED.
“I am not, I never was, and never can be, the betrothed of Mr. Brandon
Coyle; therefore there can be no marriage ceremony performed now, or
ever, between that person and myself.”
These words fell with a stupefying effect upon the ears of the assembled
company.
“Have we heard aright?” they asked themselves.
“Oh, she is mad!” muttered Brandon Coyle, recovering his speech, of
which the shock had momentarily deprived him. “Her head is turned! Her
words are false as reckless upon the very face of them! The whole
neighborhood knows of our betrothal, indorsed by her grandfather!”
“_My dear!_” said Lord Beaudevere, in a low tone of surprise, pain and
expostulation, while all the company except Net Fleming looked on in
wonder as to what they had heard and seen, and what was to be expected
further.
Brandon Coyle, his lips grimly shut, his face pale, and his eyes on
fire, strode up to the table and fixed his gaze upon the face of the
young lady, as if in his madness he fancied that his look could quell
her.
But she would not meet his eyes. She kept hers fixed on the table, while
she resumed her speech:
“You are all surprised and incredulous; but I will explain and convince
you. At the time Mr. Brandon Coyle asked my hand of my grandfather, the
late earl, he was not free to contract marriage. Neither my grandfather
nor myself knew this fact at the time. My grandfather died in ignorance
of it. I have only known it for a very few days.”
“IT IS FALSE!! It is false as——!!! Some enemy has abused this lady’s ear
with a base slander!” burst forth Brandon Coyle in a fury, as he struck
his clenched hand down upon the table.
“This is very painful! Very painful indeed! This is a serious charge to
bring against your affianced husband, the man once accepted by yourself,
and approved by your grandfather, my dear,” said Lord Beaudevere, in a
tone of remonstrance.
“I do not pretend to know what she means by it!” exclaimed Coyle, in a
voice full of affected sorrow.
“What reason have you for your words, my daughter?” inquired the priest.
“If there be any grounds for this charge, Lady Arielle,” said the
lawyer, in slow and measured syllables, “your friends would like to hear
them.”
“He was married on the ninth of last September to a young woman named
Christelle Ken, of the village of Miston—”
“It is as false as——!!!” exclaimed Coyle, losing all self-control, and
falling into bad language.
“Brandon! Brandon! recollect yourself, my _dear_ boy! Arielle, my child,
this is a very extraordinary charge!” said the baron, who was beginning
to be very much distressed and perplexed.
“I can _prove_ the charge, Lord Beaudevere. This letter was written to
me by his wife. I received it on the day that my dear grandfather was
attacked with his last and fatal sickness. Inclosed you will find the
marriage certificate. Will you pass both to Mr. Brandon Coyle and let
him examine them, and decide whether he will leave me now in peace, or
whether he will compel me to a further exposure of his evil deeds?”
Lord Beaudevere took the letter and handed it to Coyle, who received it
with a scowl.
“A forgery! A falsehood! An impudent imposition!” he exclaimed, as soon
as he had glanced at the contents; and he tore it fiercely into pieces
and threw it upon the floor.
Lord Beaudevere then handed him the marriage “lines” of poor Kit.
“Why do you insult me with this thing? A farce!” he exclaimed, as he
seized and tore the second paper.
“Gentlemen,” he continued, more calmly, “these are miserable tricks of
some enemy bent on injuring me and annoying my promised bride. And but
that they _have_ disturbed Lady Arielle, they would be beneath contempt.
Surely you need not regard such base trifles?”
“Where did you get these papers, my dear?” inquired Lord Beaudevere.
“One moment, my lord. I wish to ask that person if he really pretends to
hold me to any engagement.”
“Most certainly I do,” distinctly answered Coyle.
“And to deny the authenticity of these documents?”
“Assuredly I do!”
“Then you compel me to prove their authenticity by exposing you more
fully,” said Lady Arielle; and turning her head to where Net stood
vailed, she asked:
“Mrs. Fleming, will you come here to my support?”
Net left her seat, walked around the table and stood at the back of
Arielle’s chair, with one hand on the girl’s shoulder.
“Question Mrs. Fleming, my lord. I do not think she will like to tell
the story except in answer to questions,” said Arielle.
At the sight of Net, Brandon Coyle had staggered back and dropped upon a
seat, with every vestige of color drained from his dark face.
“My dear, do you really know anything certain about this strange story
that has been brought to Lady Arielle? Is there a shadow of truth in
it?” inquired Lord Beaudevere, still incredulous and bewildered.
“Mrs. Fleming is my bitter enemy. Her testimony should not be taken
against me!” exclaimed Brandon Coyle, madly.
“I am no man’s enemy, and so little yours that I am pained that justice
obliges me to speak of you as I must do,” said Net, gently.
Then turning to Lord Beaudevere she answered him, saying:
“I know this much—that Mr. Brandon Coyle is either legally married to
Christelle Ken, the daughter of James Ken, the fisherman, of Miston, or
else he has deceived her by a false marriage. Yes, Lord Beaudevere, this
is absolutely true. I could tell you much more to the point if
necessary, but the subject is a painful one. Besides, I do not think Mr.
Brandon Coyle will deny the facts to _me_, to whom he promised ten days
ago that in one week from that date he would do justice to the girl by
acknowledging her as his wife.”
While Net spoke, Brandon Coyle sat shaking with rage and fear as with an
ague. His castles in the air were tumbling all around him, and
threatening even to crush him under their ruins.
“Where is this girl, my dear?” mildly inquired the distressed baron.
“_Ay! where is she?_” fiercely demanded Brandon Coyle. “Produce her! If
she is my wife, let her come forward and face me with the claim! _Where
is she?_”
“Where is she, my dear Mrs. Fleming?” inquired the baron.
“Mr. Brandon Coyle is most probably the only person here who can answer
that question; for, on the very night before the day upon which he had
promised to acknowledge her, she disappeared from my house, and has not
been heard of since. Her parents are in the deepest distress at her
strange absence. Mr. Brandon Coyle probably knows her whereabouts,”
gravely answered Net.
“I know nothing about the infernal girl!” frantically exclaimed Coyle.
“It is a base conspiracy to ruin me!”
Here old Mr. Coyle arose to his feet and advanced until he stood face to
face with his nephew, when—wiping his round, close-cropped, silver-gray
head until it shone like a metallic ball, as was his custom when heated
or excited—he burst forth with a torrent of indignation:
“Conspiracy or _not_ conspiracy, sir, I charge you to disprove these
accusations before you ever dare to set foot in my house again! If they
are true, sir—if they are true, by—” (here the old squire sealed his
earnestness with an oath not to be recorded)—“I will bequeath Caveland
and all my money to found an asylum for unconvicted _thieves_ and
_cut-throats_ before I will leave you one shilling!”
“You are all against me!” fiercely exclaimed Coyle, with the aspect of a
hyena at bay.
“You evil son of an evil father, acquit yourself of this charge, or
never look me in the face again!” exclaimed Old Coyle, turning away, and
trotting back to his seat.
Net, feeling somehow as if she were a witness subpœnaed on a trial in a
court of justice, said:
“Nothing, indeed, but the strongest conviction of duty would cause me to
make the disclosures I am about to do. Mr. Brandon Coyle has said that
he would not know Kit Ken if she were now to enter this room. Yet, I
myself have seen Mr. Brandon Coyle in the company of Kit Ken, under
circumstances that convinced me that he was her lover.
“It was on the night of November the twenty-first, long after midnight
and near morning, when I was awakened out of sleep by the noise of
something falling. Thinking nothing worse had happened than that our cat
had knocked some of the crockery down off the dresser, I arose, lighted
a candle, and went into the kitchen, where I found Mr. Brandon Coyle.”
The old squire groaned aloud and suppressed an oath.
“Bah!” exclaimed Coyle, defiantly. “I explained to Mrs. Fleming, at the
time, how it was! I had arrived from London by the midnight train;
taking the short cut from Miston to Caveland, had come down the church
lane, passing Bird’s Nest Cottage, saw that the careless inmates—women
and children, don’t you know—had left the door open all night, went in
through the darkness to the kitchen to call the negligent servant to
remedy the mistake, and—fell over the coal-scuttle! The noise aroused
the lady of the house, who came forth, and finding me standing in the
middle of the kitchen caressing my aggrieved shin, immediately accused
me of—the fiend knows what! Coming after the silver spoons, I think, was
the first form of the indictment! Of course, as I said before, I
explained the good intention that had brought me to the house; but she
would not believe me! She does not believe me now even though she must
have found her silver plate all right,” he added, in a tone of assumed
jollity and recklessness.
No one, however, paid any serious attention to his words; but Dr. Bennet
requested Mrs. Fleming to proceed.
Net resumed her account of the night’s alarm:
“On my demanding of the intruder the meaning of his presence in my house
at such an unseemly hour, he did, indeed, attempt such an explanation as
he has offered here; but I knew his excuse to be false on the very face
of it, and told him so. I suspected, also, his real errand, and told him
that; I then demanded that he should give me his solemn promise never to
approach my premises again, and never to see or speak to Kit Ken again,
unless it was to make her his wife.”
“And what did the vagabond say to that?” demanded the old squire.
“He asked me what would be the consequence of his refusal to comply with
such absurd demands. I told him that I should go the next day and lay
the whole case before Mr. Coyle, of Caveland, and claim from him, both
as the uncle of the delinquent and as Justice of the Peace for the
neighborhood, protection for myself and household against the
aggressions of Mr. Brandon Coyle.”
“And you should have had it, my dear! You should have had it! I would
have committed the scamp to the county jail if he had been twenty
nephews rolled into one! Why didn’t you come and complain to me, my
dear? Why didn’t you?”
“Because,” said Net, “the man promised all that I demanded. He promised
to acknowledge Kit his lawful wife within a week from that day, and
under that promise he was permitted to leave my house in peace.”
“And he _did_ marry her?”
“He had married her long before that, or he had pretended to do so. The
poor girl, who had some pride in her good name, and could not endure to
lie under suspicion, confessed to me that morning her secret marriage to
Mr. Brandon Coyle on the night of September ninth, the night of the day
of my dear step-father’s funeral. I remember missing her that night and
receiving a lame excuse for her unusual absence. She showed me a paper
that she called her ‘wedding lines’—a sort of irregular certificate of
marriage—the same paper that Mr. Brandon Coyle has destroyed. She also
gave me many details that would have convinced any candid mind of her
truth. She evidently, confidently believed herself to be the lawful wife
of Mr. Brandon Coyle.”
“She believed nothing of the sort! She imposed on you, madame, by a
tissue of artful falsehoods which your own imagination has unfortunately
for truth, very much embellished!” rudely exclaimed Brandon Coyle.
“HOLD YOUR TONGUE, SIR!” vociferated the old squire, beside himself with
rage and shame. “Can you not see that your cause is gone? Can you not
see that not a man nor woman present believes one word you have to say?
Why do you not leave the room and the house? How long do you intend to
stand there heaping disgrace upon yourself and all connected with you?
Leave! Begone! For decency’s sake, go hang yourself!”
“Indeed, I think you had better withdraw, Mr. Brandon,” said Lord
Beaudevere, in a low tone.
“You are all against me! Every one of you! You are all my enemies! I am
basely slandered! Foully maligned! And you believe and indorse my
slanderers and maligners, or you _pretend_ to do so, because you are all
my bitter enemies! I have not a friend in this house to do me justice!”
fiercely exclaimed the desperate villain, and like a wild beast driven
to frenzy, he turned to rush from the room.
In an instant Aspirita Coyle, who had been a silent but angry spectator
of the scene arose and darted to her brother’s side, exclaiming:
“Yes, Brandon! _I_ am your friend! Your sister! If our friends here
abandon you, they must abandon me too! If our uncle discards you, he
shall lose me also! I will never re-enter the doors that refuse to
receive you! I will go with you, my brother, and share your fate!”
She had poured forth all these words with impetuous passion, and now she
caught his arm and turned around, facing the company with eyes blazing
defiance.
“DROP THAT MAN’S ARM INSTANTLY, MISS COYLE!” thundered the old squire.
“I won’t! He is my dear brother!”
“Go, my dear girl. Would you cling to a fallen pillar?” whispered
Brandon, who seemed deeply touched by her fidelity at this time.
“Yes, I would. Since it is my brother! The only one I really love on
earth!” replied the girl.
“OBEY ME, MISS COYLE! Return to your seat this moment!” roared the old
squire.
“I—will—not!” replied Aspirita, slowly and emphatically.
“Go, go, my sister!” urged the young man.
“I’ll see him—_burnt_ first! There!” said Aspirita.
“COME HERE THIS INSTANT, MISS COYLE! You are my niece!—my ward! You must
submit to me!” cried the old squire, leaving his seat.
“I tell you I won’t! What is the use of your roaring?” retorted the
girl. “Come, Brandon! Why are we lingering here? Let us leave the room!”
she added, turning to her brother.
“Aspirita! You would but embarrass me by your presence. Dear child, I
feel your devotion! It is a great comfort to me to find _one_ heart
faithful to mine in adversity! And when I have a home I will send for
you to share it; but until that time you would but embarrass me! Go,
dear! Go,” whispered the young man, in eager, hurried tones.
But still she clung to him, while old Coyle chafed and sputtered, and
began to look dangerous.
“Aspirita,” hastily whispered Brandon, “for the next few days I shall
have no fixed home. I go to hunt up evidence to vindicate my honor. And
I go—_to avenge myself upon my enemies_!” he added, in a hissing tone,
as his white teeth gleamed like a tiger’s under his bushy black
mustache.
“I will not be disgraced by both of you at the same time. If you do not
obey me, and leave that villain’s side instantly, Miss Coyle, I will
find means to compel you to do so!” thundered the exasperated old
squire, trotting towards the brother and sister, with his round face in
a flame, and short, fat arm raised threateningly.
“Go! go! _Pray_ go!” hastily whispered Brandon.
“ONCE MORE! For the last time! Will you obey me?” vociferated the old
man, standing before them with doubled fist.
“I will obey _my brother_. He tells me to go with you, and I will go.
And when he shall tell me to leave you and return to him—I will do so.
_I am of age_—a fact which you seem to have forgotten—and I am at
liberty to do as I please. Good-bye, my dear brother! I hope soon to see
you victorious over all your enemies,” said Aspirita.
Brandon Coyle folded her in his arms for a moment, then released her,
and with a profound, mocking bow to the assembled company, turned and
left the room.
“Be good enough to see if my carriage waits,” said the old man then to
Adams, the footman, who stood with the other servants near the door, and
who immediately left to obey the order.
Lady Arielle, now suffering from the reaction of excitement, pale and
trembling, yet self-possessed and courteous, heard this order given and
immediately walked down to the side of old Mr. Coyle and said:
“Will you not gratify your friends by remaining to dinner? It will be
served in a few minutes.”
“I couldn’t eat a morsel if it was to save my life! Could you?” roughly
replied the old man.
“We have already dined—‘full of horrors’—Lady Altofaire,” said Aspirita
Coyle, with freezing politeness.
“No one can regret and _deplore_ the pain I have been compelled to give
more than I do myself,” said Lady Arielle, with feeling.
“You could not help it, my lady! You could not help it! You must not
regret or deplore anything that has happened! You should thank Heaven to
be rid of the scamp on any terms!” exclaimed old Mr. Coyle.
“I think it is mean and cruel for a man’s own relation to turn against
him!” exclaimed Aspirita.
“I disclaim him as a relation. He is not a Coyle at all! He is the son
of his father,” said the old squire, bitterly. “They have both caused me
grief and shame enough in my time! And _you_, Aspirita, had best keep
silence on this subject! I advise you!”
The girl, hanging on his arm, turned as pale as her dark skin would
permit, and became mute.
“Mr. Coyle’s carriage waits,” said the footman, opening the door.
“Ah! All right! Good afternoon, Lady Altofaire,” said the old squire,
with a bow, as he turned and led off his niece, who merely nodded to the
young countess in leaving.
When the Coyles had gone, Lord Beaudevere rapped on the table, as if to
call the little company to order, and then said:
“It is the desire of the Countess of Altofaire that the subjects just
discussed in this room be not talked of to any one beyond these walls.
Of the reticence of her friends she feels the fullest confidence. And of
the people of her household she hopes the same discreet silence. The
servants may now withdraw.”
In obedience to this direction, the domestics, who had been called
together to listen to the reading of the late lord’s will, now
retired—each one satisfied with, and grateful for, the legacy that had
been left to him or to her, and resolved to be silent upon the subject
of the sensational revelations that had been made that day, and had
broken off the marriage engagement between their young lady and Mr.
Brandon Coyle.
But, oh! the strong, overwhelming temptation to tell such a stunning
story!
The men really resisted the temptation and kept the faith from first to
last.
And the women kept the secret for a few hours; but then the cook, under
an extorted promise of profound secrecy, told it to the pretty
dairymaid, Hannah Horner, as a solemn warning to beware of young men who
were above her in rank, for fear she might be taken in by a false
marriage and spirited away like poor Kit Ken.
And the dairymaid, with mouth and eyes wide open with wonder and dismay,
told the whole story to her mother, old Dame Horner, at the porter’s,
when she went home—for should a girl keep a secret from her own mother?
Dame Horner, who was required to make no promise on the subject,
button-holed and half paralyzed the postman with the story the very
first time he came through the gate.
And the postman told the tale all over the country, wherever he stopped
to deliver or to gather letters.
Thus, in a few hours, the luckless love story of poor Kit Ken had
reached even to the ears of her parents and brothers! And the rough men
of the family were out on the war-path after Brandon Coyle.
But to return to the great dining-hall where the late earl’s will had
been read, and the startling revelations had been made.
Soon after the withdrawal of the servants dinner was announced, and the
company, reduced now to seven persons, adjourned to the small
dining-room, where the table had been laid, and where every one,
excepting Arielle, really enjoyed the courses set before them.
Soon after dinner Arielle and Net found themselves alone for a few
moments, and the former said:
“I have been wanting to ask you, all day, whether you have heard from
Antoinette since I saw you last.”
“Yes, I had a letter this morning just before I left home. She has gone
down to Deloraine Park to spend the winter. She thinks the quietness of
the country and the mild air will do her good. She wants me to join her
there,” replied Net.
“But you will not go?”
“Not at present,” said Net.
An hour later the friends were all assembled in the drawing-room, where,
after drinking tea, the guests were preparing to depart.
Net Fleming went up to Lady Arielle to bid her good-night.
“Must you go? Oh, must you go so soon?” inquired the young countess, in
a sorrowful tone.
“Yes, dear; you know I came with Dr. Bennet. He was kind enough to drive
me here in his gig. He is going now; he has some patients to see this
evening, and I must go home when he goes.”
“But why return at all to-night? Why can’t you stay with me for a few
days? Oh! I need you so much, Net.”
“Dear friend, I would be so willing to do so, but I cannot leave the
children. There is no one that I dare trust them to since poor Kit has
gone,” gently replied Net.
“Bring them here!” quickly exclaimed the lady. “Oh, Net! close up the
cottage, and send home your servant, and come and bring the children
with you, and stay—stay as long as ever you can—stay always, or at least
until Mr. Adrian Fleming returns to take you home. Oh! _do_, Net. Say
you will.”
“But, my dear, shall you remain at the castle? Shall you not go to the
house of your guardian, Lord Beaudevere?” inquired Net, as she drew on
her black gloves.
“To Cloudland? Oh, no, no, no! Why, _he_ is expected back in a few
days—”
“Valdimir Desparde!” exclaimed Net, in astonishment.
“Yes. I did not tell you when I was at the Bird’s Nest, I could not bear
to speak of him. And I cannot go to Cloudland, where I may meet him.”
“Why—when—how did you hear this?” questioned Net, in wonder.
“A letter from him to Lord Beaudevere, announcing his return to—to
vindicate himself. There! do not let us speak of him!”
“But if he can vindicate himself, surely you will be glad to see him,
dear Arielle?” said Net.
“Hush! How _can_ he do so? His wife and child have passed from this
world! Thus he is free to come back. This is his vindication! Bah! let
us drop the subject! I cannot go to Cloudland; that is certain! You must
come, and bring the children and stay with me here, Net.”
“But children might be troublesome to you, my dear.”
“What nonsense! If they should be, I could put them in a pleasant suite
of apartments, half a mile away from me, in this big house! But they
will not trouble me the least! Little children never do: they always
cheer and comfort me! Bring them, Net. When will you bring them? When
shall I send old Abraham with the old family coach for you? To-morrow?
Next day? When, Net?”
“It is not very polite to interrupt a conversation between friends but,
my dear Mrs. Fleming, unless we set out very soon night will overtake us
before we get through the mountain passes,” said Dr. Bennet, coming up.
“Good-night, dear Arielle,” murmured Net, stooping to kiss the young
hostess.
“But you have not told me, when I shall send the family coach for you
and the children! You shall not go until you tell me!” exclaimed the
latter, clasping her friend’s hand.
“On—on Saturday—Saturday afternoon,” answered Net, hurriedly, as she
once more kissed her hostess good-night, and left her to make other
hasty adieux, not to keep her escort waiting.
“Mind! be ready to come on Saturday. I shall be sure to send the
carriage with orders to bring you and the children back if it has to
wait all day and all night too!” said Lady Arielle, following Net to the
door.
“I will be ready, dear! Good-night,” said Net, as she disappeared.
The family solicitor also took leave, and departed in his hired cab to
catch the midnight express for London.
The old priest pleaded his age and infirmities and retired to his den;
Lord Beaudevere and Vivienne remained in the castle over night.
And soon after the friends retired to rest.
[Illustration: [Fleuron]]