Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 337: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

324 the interior arrangements, which must be men- tioned. Hitherto Mrs. Ravenscliffe and her daughter had occupied the same chamber: but now Mrs. Ravenscliffe moved te another one, which had an almost equally large bedroom ad- joining. They are situated in the eastern wing of the building. The old laundress who fells the tale, but who was then quite a young girl of seven- teen or eighteen, was appointed to attend by night upon Mrs. Ravenscliffe, and to sleep in the cham- ber adjoining her own. Miss Arabella removed into this room,—this room, my dear Miss Percy, where you and I are now seated !” There was another brief pause; and then Beda continued in the following manner :— All these arrangements took place upon grounds which appeared to be quite natural and proper. It was alleged that Arabella’s health was suffering through the constant attentions she bestowed upon her mother; and that therefore if she devoted her days to that mother, she had a right to enjoy an adequate amount of rest at night. The mother said the same thing: the Squire was utterly in- different as to what was being done, so long as his own accustomed course of enjoyment remained uninterrupted. Again were Edmund Cautley and Arabella Ravenscliffe seen frequently walking to- gether, or whispering apart; and what is more, the young lady was often seen in tears, though she evidently did all she could to conceal them. But at the expiration of two or three weeks, Ara- bella was represented as being indisposed: she kept her chamber for a few days—she would not receive the visits of any professional man—but the mother used to go and sit with her for nearly the whole day. The servants whispered amongst themselves, wondering whether their former sus- picions were true—and if so, how matters would be suffered to progress. To their surprise, how- ever, Miss Arabella left her chamber at the expi- ration of a few days: she looked very pale, lan- guid, and thin; and there was wonderment amongst the domestics—but they fancied that they must have been mistaken, and that the young lady could ot have been in a way to be- come a mother. A few weeks passed—and Cap- tain Cautley again absented himself; but this time it was only for about a month—and it was said that he had been to London to effect his re- tirement from the service, either by selling his commission or going on half-pay, I know not ex- actly which. He returned to the Hall; and just at that time the Squire was laid up in bed froma serious accident, he having broken his collar-bone by a fall from his horse. And now I come to the tragic part of this most dismal story. A few days after Captain Cautley’s return to the Hall, he and Arabella were seen walking together in the shrubbery; high words were passing between them: the sounds could be heard—but the sense could not be distinguished. It was conjectured that Arabella entreated and threatened, and that Edmund Cautley spoke to her in harsh unfeeling terms. Beyond this nothing more was known of that interview. This was not however the only event of significancy—indeed I may say of im- portance, which occurred that day; for very shortly after the scene in the shrubbery, there was another scene in the drawing-room—where the mother, the daughter, and Captain Cautley ee ee a aes ee | i ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. were present together. One of the servants en- deavoured to listen: but all that could be gleaned was that the mother virulently reproached Cap- tain Cautley for something which could not be understood—though it was surmised because he refused to espouse her daughter. At the end of that interview the Captain took his hurried de- parture from the Hall, without even seeing the Squire — who, as I have already observed, was lying ill of a broken collar-bone. The hours passed away ; and at the usual time in the even- ing the inmates of the Hall retired to rest, little suspecting the nature of the horrors that were to occur during that memorable night. A gardener, who lived in one of the outhouses, returned home at about eleven o’clock; and as he was passing along the back of the mansion, he was suddenly startled by beholding a person enveloped in a cloak, who was just disappearing through a door which opens into the library.” “Ah!” I ejaculated, smitten by a strange feel- ing which I must candidly confess was one of uneasiness, if not actually of terror. “Do you mean @ door which is of glass half-way down, and has a shutter to put up over it ?” **'Yes—the same,” replied Beda, surveying me with the intensest curiosity. “ But why do you ask the question? and why do you turn so pale, dear Miss? What has affected you?” ‘Nothing, nothing!” I rejoined. you presently. Proceed, Beda.” “The gardener caught a glimpse of that cloaked figure,” continued Beda, “and rushed after the individual. He caught him by the mantle; and then the gentleman turned round, and the gar- dener saw that it was Captain Cautley. He began making excuses: the Captain gave him a guinea, and desired him to say nothing of the circum- stance. The gardener pursued his way with the guinea in his pocket,—and wondering what the circumstance could mean,—why the Captain, in short, should be thus stealthily entering the Hall. In the morning Miss Arabella did not descend to the breakfast-table at the usual hour; and after a while her mother, becoming alarmed, sent one of the servants to inquire if she were ill. No answer was returned to the summons at the door of the chamber,—this chamber, my dear Miss! The door itself was locked: but it was soon forced open— and then what a spectacle met the view !” Beda shuddered—rose from her seat—flung a rapid uneasy look around her—and then said in a low deep voice, “ Captain Cautley was lying stretched upon the floor, weltering in his blood— a long sharp knife having inflicted the wound! There he lay, enveloped in his cloak—and he had been dead many hours! But that was not all. For there—in that dressing-room where I slept last night, — there, my dear Miss Percy, the wretched Arabella was found suspended to the cord by which the skylight is opened or shut! She had on nothing but ker night-dress and a morning-wrapper: she was thus all clothed in white, as if she had apparelled herself purposely in garments which might seem to be those of the grave !” Beda again paused, her looks full of horror; and I felt that horror was also in my own countenance —for I not only thought of the tragic story which I had just heard, but likewise of that cloaked “T will tell Gomicboo @ SHAE(o)