The Desborough Connections Page #7

"The Desborough Connections" by Bret Harte is a captivating short story that explores themes of social class, morality, and the complexities of human relationships. Set in the American West, the narrative revolves around the titular Desborough family, whose connections and enigmatic past intrigue locals and visitors alike. Through a blend of wit, irony, and vivid characterization, Harte delves into the intricacies of love, loyalty, and the consequences of choices made by the characters. The story reflects the author's hallmark style, showcasing his ability to capture the essence of frontier life while critiquing societal norms.

• Short story

								

was crazy! Yes, he MUST be crazy, and he had insulted her, but he was an
old man--and God knows what! Her heart was beating rapidly, her breath
was hurried, but she ran back to the stile.

He was not there. The field sloped away on either side of it. But she
could distinguish nothing in the pouring rain above the wind-swept
meadow. He must have gone home. Relieved for a moment she turned and
hurried on towards the Priory.

But at every step she was followed, not by the old man's presence, but
by what he had said to her, which she could not shake off as she had
shaken off his detaining fingers. Was it the ravings of insanity, or had
she stumbled unwittingly upon some secret--was it after all a SECRET?
Perhaps it was something they all knew, or would know later. And she had
come down here for this. For back of her indignation, back even of her
disbelief in his insanity, there was an awful sense of truth! The names
he had flung out, of "Debs," "Debban," and "Debbrook" now flashed upon
her as something she had seen before, but had not understood. Until she
satisfied herself of this, she felt she could not live or breathe! She
loathed the Priory, with its austere exclusiveness, as it rose before
her; she wished she had never entered it; but it contained that which
she must know, and know at once! She entered the nearest door and ran
up the grand staircase. Her flushed face and disordered appearance were
easily accounted for by her exposure to the sudden storm. She went to
her bedroom, sent her maid to another room to prepare a change of dress,
and sinking down before her traveling-desk, groped for a document. Ah!
there it was--the expensive toy that she had played with! She hastily
ran over its leaves to the page she already remembered. And there, among
the dashes and perpendicular lines she had jested over last night, on
which she had thought was a collateral branch of the line, stood her
father's name and that of Richard, his uncle, with the bracketed note in
red ink, "see Debbrook, Daybrook, Debbers, and Debs." Yes! this gaunt,
half-crazy, overworked peasant, content to rake the dead leaves before
the rolling chariots of the Beverdales, was her grandfather; that poorly
clad girl in the cottage, and even the menial in the scullery of this
very house that might be HERS, were her COUSINS! She burst into a laugh,
and then refolded the document and put it away.

At luncheon she was radiant and sparkling. Her drenched clothes were
an excuse for a new and ravishing toilette. She had never looked so
beautiful before, and significant glances were exchanged between some
of the guests, who believed that the expected proposal had already come.
But those who were of the carriage party knew otherwise, and of Lord
Algernon's disappointment. Lord Beverdale contented himself with
rallying his fair guest on the becomingness of "good works." But he
continued, "You're offering a dreadful example to these ladies, Miss
Desborough, and I know I shall never hereafter be able to content them
with any frivolous morning amusement at the Priory. For myself, when
I am grown gouty and hideous, I know I shall bloom again as a district
visitor."

Yet under this surface sparkle and nervous exaltation Sadie never lost
consciousness of the gravity of the situation. If her sense of humor
enabled her to see one side of its grim irony; if she experienced a
wicked satisfaction in accepting the admiration and easy confidence of
the high-born guests, knowing that her cousin had assisted in preparing
the meal they were eating, she had never lost sight of the practical
effect of the discovery she had made. And she had come to a final
resolution. She should leave the Priory at once, and abandon all idea of
a matrimonial alliance with its heir! Inconsistent as this might seem
to her selfish, worldly nature, it was nevertheless in keeping with a
certain pride and independence that was in her blood. She did not love
Lord Algernon, neither did she love her grandfather; she was equally
willing to sacrifice either or both; she knew that neither Lord Algernon
nor his father would make her connections an objection, however they
might wish to keep the fact a secret, or otherwise dispose of them by
pensions or emigration, but she could not bear to KNOW IT HERSELF!
She never could be happy as the mistress of Scrooby Priory with that
knowledge; she did not idealize it as a principle! Carefully weighing it
by her own practical common sense, she said to herself that "it wouldn't
pay." The highest independence is often akin to the lowest selfishness;
she did not dream that the same pride which kept her grandfather from
the workhouse and support by his daughters, and had even kept him from
communicating with his own son, now kept her from acknowledging them,
even for the gift of a title and domain. There was only one question
before her: should she stay long enough to receive the proposal of Lord
Algernon, and then decline it? Why should she not snatch that single
feminine joy out of the ashes of her burnt-up illusion? She knew that an
opportunity would be offered that afternoon. The party were to take tea
at Broxby Hall, and Lord Algernon was to drive her there in his dogcart.
Miss Desborough had gone up to her bedroom to put on a warmer cloak, and
had rung twice or thrice impatiently for her maid.

When the girl made her appearance, apologetic, voluble, and excited,
Miss Desborough scarcely listened to her excuses, until a single word
suddenly arrested her attention. It was "old Debs."

"What ARE you talking about?" said Sadie, pausing in the adjustment of
her hat on her brown hair.

"Old Debs, miss,--that's what they call him; an old park-keeper, just
found dead in a pool of water in the fields; the grandfather of one of
the servants here; and there's such an excitement in the servants' hall.
The gentlemen all knew it, too, for I heard Lord Algernon say that
he was looking very queer lately, and might have had a fit; and Lord
Beverdale has sent word to the coroner. And only think, the people here
are such fools that they daren't touch or move the poor man, and him
lyin' there in the rain all the time, until the coroner comes!"

Miss Desborough had been steadily regarding herself in the glass to see
if she had turned pale. She had. She set her teeth together until
the color partly returned. But she kept her face away from the maid.
"That'll do," she said quietly. "You can tell me all later. I have some
important news myself, and I may not go out after all. I want you to
take a note for me." She went to her table, wrote a line in pencil,
folded it, scribbled an address upon it, handed it to the girl, and
gently pushed her from the room.

*****

The consul was lingering on the terrace beside one of the carriages; at
a little distance a groom was holding the nervous thoroughbred of Lord

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