The Desborough Connections Page #8

"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

								

Algernon's dog-cart. Suddenly he felt a touch on his shoulder, and Miss
Desborough's maid put a note in his hand. It contained only a line:--

Please come and see me in the library, but without making any fuss about
it--at once. S. D.

The consul glanced around him; no one had apparently noticed the
incident. He slipped back into the house and made his way to the
library. It was a long gallery; at the further end Miss Desborough stood
cloaked, veiled, and coquettishly hatted. She was looking very beautiful
and animated. "I want you to please do me a great favor," she said, with
an adorable smile, "as your own countrywoman, you know--for the sake of
Fourth of July and Pumpkin Pie and the Old Flag! I don't want to go
to this circus to-day. I am going to leave here to-night! I am! Honest
Injin! I want YOU to manage it. I want you to say that as consul you've
received important news for me: the death of some relative, if you like;
or better, something AFFECTING MY PROPERTY, you know," with a little
satirical laugh. "I guess that would fetch 'em! So go at once."

"But really, Miss Desborough, do let us talk this over before you
decide!" implored the bewildered consul. "Think what a disappointment to
your host and these ladies. Lord Algernon expects to drive you there; he
is already waiting! The party was got up for you!" Miss Desborough made
a slight grimace. "I mean you ought to sacrifice something--but I trust
there is really nothing serious--to them!"

"If YOU do not speak to them, I will!" said Miss Desborough firmly. "If
you say what I tell you, it will come the more plausibly from you. Come!
My mind is made up. One of us must break the news! Shall it be you or
I?" She drew her cloak over her shoulders and made a step forwards.

The consul saw she was determined. "Then wait here till I return, but
keep yourself out of sight," he said, and hurried away. Between the
library and the terrace he conceived a plan. His perplexity lent him a
seriousness which befitted the gravity of the news he had to disclose.
"I am sorry to have to tell you," he said, taking Lord Beverdale aside,
"that I was the unlucky bearer of some sad news to Miss Desborough this
morning, through my consular letters--some matter concerning the death
of a relation of hers, and some wearisome question of property. I
thought that it was of little importance, and that she would not take
it seriously, but I find I was mistaken. It may even oblige her to catch
the London train to-night. I promised to make her excuses to you for the
present, and I'm afraid I must add my own to them, as she wishes me to
stay and advise her in this matter, which requires some prompt action."

Miss Desborough was right: the magic word "property" changed the slight
annoyance on the earl's face to a sympathetic concern. "Dear me! I trust
it is nothing really serious," he said. "Of course, you will advise her,
and, by the way, if my solicitor, Withers, who'll be here to-morrow,
can do anything, you know, call him in. I hope she'll be able to see
me later. It could not be a NEAR relation who died, I fancy; she has no
brothers or sisters, I understand."

"A cousin, I think; an old friend," said the consul hastily. He heard
Lord Beverdale say a few words to his companions, saw with a tinge of
remorse a cloud settle upon Lord Algernon's fresh face, as he appealed
in a whisper to old Lady Mesthyn, who leaned forward from the carriage,
and said, "If the dear child thought I could be of any service, I should
only be too glad to stay with her."

"I knew she would appreciate Lady Mesthyn's sympathy," said the
ingenious consul quickly, "but I really think the question is more a
business one--and"--

"Ah, yes," said the old lady, shaking her head, "it's dreadful, of
course, but we must all think of THAT!"

As the carriage drove away, the consul hurried back a little viciously
to his fair countrywoman. "There!" he said, "I have done it! If I have
managed to convey either the idea that you are a penniless orphan, or
that I have official information that you are suspected of a dynamite
conspiracy, don't blame me! And now," he said, "as I have excused myself
on the ground that I must devote myself to this dreadful business of
yours, perhaps you'll tell me WHAT it really is."

"Not a word more," said Miss Desborough; "except," she added,--checking
her smile with a weary gesture,--"except that I want to leave this
dreadful place at once! There! don't ask me any more!"

There could be no doubt of the girl's sincerity. Nor was it the
extravagant caprice of a petted idol. What had happened? He might have
believed in a lovers' quarrel, but he knew that she and Lord Algernon
could have had no private interview that evening. He must perforce
accept her silence, yet he could not help saying:--

"You seemed to like the place so much last night. I say, you haven't
seen the Priory ghost, have you?"

"The Priory ghost," she said quickly. "What's that?"

"The old monk who passes through the cloisters with the sacred oil, the
bell, and the smell of incense whenever any one is to die here. By Jove!
it would have been a good story to tell instead of this cock-and-bull
one about your property. And there WAS a death here to-day. You'd have
added the sibyl's gifts to your other charms."

"Tell me about that old man," she said, looking past him out of the
window. "I was at his cottage this morning. But, no! first let us go
out. You can take me for a walk, if you like. You see I am all ready,
and I'm just stifling here."

They descended to the terrace together. "Where would you like to go?" he
asked.

"To the village. I may want to telegraph, you know."

They turned into the avenue, but Miss Desborough stopped.

"Is there not a shorter cut across the fields," she asked, "over there?"

"There is," said the consul.

They both turned into the footpath which led to the farm and stile.
After a pause she said, "Did you ever talk with that poor old man?"

"No."

"Then you don't know if he really was crazy, as they think."

"No. But they may have thought an old man's forgetfulness of present
things and his habit of communing with the past was insanity. For all
that he was a plucky, independent old fellow, with a grim purpose that
was certainly rational."

"I suppose in his independence he would not have taken favors from these
people, or anybody?"

"I should think not."

"Don't you think it was just horrid--their leaving him alone in the
rain, when he might have been only in a fit?"

"The doctor says he died suddenly of heart disease," said the consul.
"It might have happened at any moment and without warning."

"Ah, that was the coroner's verdict, then," said Miss Desborough
quickly.

"The coroner did not think it necessary to have any inquest after Lord
Beverdale's statement. It wouldn't have been very joyous for the Priory
party. And I dare say he thought it might not be very cheerful for YOU."

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