LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2107, 24 November 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE MYSTERY OP LORD BRACKEN BURY: A NOVEL, BY AMELIA B. EDWABDS, Author of “Barbara’s History,” “ Dehenham’a Vow,’ 1 Ac. { Continued .) With this he pulled up the window, and returned to his book. That his commands should be disputed, though never so deferentially, was something new and unheard of. As for the anrions and disappointed faces at the hotel door, he did not even see them. Sandro Qusrranta-Sette drew back, looking very blank and disconcerted. He, however, shrugged his shoulders, ordered out the relay, and hurried in to drink a bottle of his favorite vintage before starting. * He is a mule, this English milordo I’ he said, shaking himself In his wet coat, like a big dog. ‘He must go on to La Spezzis, forsooth, day or dark, storm or fair! 'Tie nothing to him, if we outside are drenched and shivering.' And, with the amiable ferocity of Italian bicod, he wished, as he poured out a tumblerful of the rich red wine, that the usual vague “ accident ” might befall Lord Braokenbury before twenty-four hours should have passed over his head.

The horses were soon in, the bottle soon emptied, and amid much lamentation on the part of the landlady, and much valedictory shouting on the part of Sandro and his friend the landlord, the yellow caleche set off again in the teeth of a driving rain.

It was, however, but the tail of the storm | end although a rolling sea of vapour surged overhead and blotted out all but the lower mountain slopes, the rain presently ceased, -pr nearly ceased in the valleys. Still descending, the road followed the course of a swollen torrent, and entered S long ravine closed iu on either side by terraced vineyards and hanging chestnut woods. The mists brooded so low, the ravine was so tortuous, the dusk was so rapidly drawing on, that there was little to see in any direction ; but Lord Braohenbnry, tired of reading, opened the window on the torrent tide, and watched the scenery with some interest. Presently be put his head out, and bade the postboys stop. * How far ’are we now from La Spezzla ?’ he asked.

Sandro Quaranta-Sette, tumbling somewhat sleepily down from the hex, guessed the distance at between eight and ten kilometres. * A good road all the way ?’ ‘ As good as here, signor.* * A straight road V * Not so very straight, signor. No straighter than it is here.* * I mean, are there no cross-roads—no turnings ? Does it lead direct to La Spezzia ?' 1 Direct, signor. We go on and on, down and down, always—and at the end we come to La Spezzia,’ * Good. Yon may open the door. I will walk the rest of the way. 1 ‘ Walk, Signor! So far—at this hoar V Lord Brackenbury folded down the page he had last been reading, dropped his book into one of the carriage-pockets, and got out. ‘ Yon can drive on,’ he said. * I shall arrive soon after yon. I am cramped and cold, and shall walk quickly.’ ‘Nay, Signor, we had better go at the Signor’s pace. It will ponr again presently, and . . . ’

Lord Brackenbury interrupted him impatiently, ‘1 am used to all weathers, *he said; ‘ and I cannot possibly loose my way,' Then turning to his valet:— ‘ Yon will see that there are good fires in all the rooms, Fronting,’ he said, ‘ and order dinner immediately. You may also enquire at the post-office for letters.* Mr Fronting, who was preparing to follow his master touched his hat, and hesitated. ‘ Hadn’t I better walk also, my lord ? ’ be asked. * Certainly not. Yon will go foward, and have all ready by the time I come,’ ' But Signor, ’ expostulated the vetturino, *it is too dark—too late—too solitary! ’ Lord Brackenbury turned upon him sharp 1 y. ‘ What do you mean by “ too solitary ? ” ’ he said. * You told me yesterday the roads were safe. Are they safe, or are they not safe ? ’ • Certainly, Signor—as safe as the streets of Genoa. Yet for all that . . .” Lord Brackenbury out him short with a hasty gesture, ‘Here, Fronting,’ he said, ‘Yon may give me the small revolver, though it is quite unnecessary. And now, my good fellow, drive on and get to La Spezzia as fast as yon can.” So saying, he put the pistol in his breastpocket, buttoned his overcoat to the throat, pulled his hat well down over hla eyes, and prepared for a brisk walk. Mr Fronting 'and Sandro Quaranta-Sette scrambled back into their places, the postboys cracked their whips, and the carriage rattled off as before. ‘He walks like a mountaineer, your milordo Inglese,’ said Sandro Quaranta Sette in the driving seat to Mr Fronting in the ramble. Mr Fronting, comprehending the look though not the words, glanced back, and saw his master following at a rapid pace. Then came a tarn in the road, and prepresently, as Lord Brackenbury again emerged into sight, another turn ; and after that they saw him no more. Meanwhile the weather cleared. The mists broke, and a crimson flush flooded the western sky, Then Sandro Quaranta-Sette wrapped himself In his rng, and took up his nap at the point where it had been interrupted. Mr Fronting, solicitous for his precious lungs, lit another cigar to keep out the damp. And so, to the dull boas of the torrent and the shrill treble of the wind in the tree tops, the yellow oaleche sped on through glowing sunset and fast-gathering twilight, leaving Lord Brackenbury farther behind with every turn of the wheels.

Chapter VI, Ml-LORD IS LATE. The arrival of Sandro Quaranta-Sette with his four post horses and his empty carriage created on unwonted excitement at the Hotel Croce di Malta; the Croce dl Malta being at that time the only good hotel in La Spezzia, and La Spezzia bat a small town at the head of a very beautiful and solitary bay, where there were neither dockyards, nor arsenals, nor ironclads, nor anything but splendour of sea and eky, and glory of mountains and the memory of a poet’s funeral pyre. It was not that travellers were few or post-horses rare. It was that Sandro Quaranta-Sette was known to be a patron of the rival inn at Borghetto. Wherefore the twin-brothers Marco and Brnno Bernardo who kept the Oroce di Malta, hailed his appearance as indicative of a possible change of policy, and were profuse in their greetings accordingly. If there was one customer wlom they had especially coveted ever since taking the hotel, it was Sandro Quaranta-Sette. _ If there was one turn-out upon the road which they had admired more than another it was the yellow caliche To welcome that caliiohe to their stables, and Sandro to their hearth and cellar, had long been the one drop wanting to the cup of their prosperity. And now, what happiness ! he was come, bringing with him a mi-lord Inglese 1 Their beat rooms, their choicest wines, everything they possessed, was at Signor Sandro’s command. Mi-lord’s valet ? Mi-lord’s luggage ? Mi-lord himself ? How 1 Following on foot ? Alone ? Heaven’s 1 What eccentricity ! Ho, there, Giuseppe—Giannino— Pietro ! This way—this way ! Upstairs with mi-lord’s luggage ! Fires in every room of the first floor. Pile on the logs and the fir-cones light the candles ! Bid the cook prepare the best dinner he can send to table ! And now Signor Sandro and Signor Milord’s valet mnst come into the office and drink a bottle of the best ! Thus with ‘ issimi ’ in profusion, the twin landlords {big, hurley, black-bearded young fellows both) welcomed Sandro Quarantaiieite and Mr Fronting j and all four en-

Joyed » pleasant quarter of an hour over their bottle. Then Mr Fronting went to the post-office j brought bach a letter addressed in the wellknown handwriting of “Mr Lancelot,” hia master’s brother; attended to the fires ; and laid oat a change of clothing against his lord’s arrival. These duties performed, he went down attain and joined the idlers at the door—those inevitable idlers who hang about the doorway of every Italian country inn, one of whom is sure to bo the apothecary and another the barber. Hither also came Sandro Quaranta-Sette, having first seen to the housing and scrupulous cleansing of the yellow caleche; and with him two other vetturini whose travellers were staying at the hotel. Of their chatter, Mr Fronting understood not one syllable; but they made way for him politely and looked pleasant; and they were at all events company. * What weather ?’ said the barber, patting hlshead outside for a moment, and drawing it in again with a jerk. *lt has begun to rain again.’ ‘ What weather!’ echoed Sandro Qua-ranta-Sette, with a shrug and a shiver. ‘He gets a cold bath gratis to night, our English Signor.’ * The English love rain. It is their native element,’ said the apothecary, who was tall and thin and all in black, and wore a crape band to his hat, as if in memory of patients departed. * They say it always rains in England,’ remarked one of the vetturini.’ The apothecary shook his head. He was the learned man of the place, ‘Not so,’ he said senteniously. ‘They divide their year in two seasons—seven months’ rain and five months’ fog. It is very dismal 1 ’ ‘ Oh, very dismal! ’ echoed everybody but Mr Fronting. ‘ Then the blessed sun never shines at all over there, exclaimed the barber, ‘By Bacchus 1 never. The rich Ingleee come here to see it.’ ‘ So that accounts for the travellers we get. Well—l never knew that before.’ The apothecary smiled loftily. ‘ All phenomena are simple when we know their causes and the laws by which they are governed,’ ho said, wisely. Then turning to Sandro Qnaranta - Sette, ' Where did you leave your mi- lord, Signor Sandro ? ’ £* asked, ‘ About half-way between the old bridge and Grass's mill.’ * How long - ago ?’ Sandro looked his watch. * Well—longer thaft I had supposed, I was going to say an hou* Ago ; but it must bo quite an hour and a-hhlf, We parted company at half-past four o’clocf The apothecary pulled out his watch : Mr Fronting pulled out his; the two vettuif.’ri pulled out theirs ; the barber, who had no watch, peeped into the office and looked at the clock over the mantlepiece. ’Fast six,’ said the apothecary. * It is not more than nine kilometri from there to Orassi’s mill,’ said the barber. ‘ A man must walk slowly, to be an hour and a half walking nine kilometri,’ said one of the vetturini. Sandro Qaaranta-Sette looked puzz’ed. *Ho walks well,’ said he. *He walks fast. I should have thought he would be here before now. ’ Mr Fronting looked from one to another of the speakers. He knew they were talking about his master. ‘ Surely my lord is late ?’ he said. To which Sandro replied, with his whole stock of English ; ‘ All right’ ‘lt may be all right, you know, and it may bo all wrong,’ said Mr Fronting, thinking of the diamonds in Lord Brackenbnry’s travelling belt. ‘ Can my lord have missed his way ?’ Sandro called Brnna Bernardo, the younger landlord, who had been a courier and spoke English. He listened, looked grave, and declared that to miss one’s way, there being neither cross-road nor turning, was impossible. * It is not impossible to miss one’s footing and fall into the torrent,’ said the apothecary, ominously. * It is an accident that has never happened in my time,’ replied Bruno; and I have known hundreds of darker evenings than this.’

‘ A man must be blind to miss bis footing between the old bridge and La Spezzia,” said the vettnrino who had spoken. ‘lt is one of the best roads in Italy.’ ‘ Have yon many bad characters in these parts ?’ asked Mr Fronting, his thoughts still turning to the diamonds. *We have no brigands, if that is what yon mean,’ said Brnno Bernadro. ‘Bat we are alarming ourselves for nothing. It was daylight when the Signor got out to walk, and it was not yet quite dark when the carriage stopped at this door. Nothing oan possibly have happened. He will be here directly. Let us talk of something else.’ They did talk of someting else—of the Fete at Genoa; of the epidemic at Carrara; of the marriage of a certain Conte Cadolinghi at Sarzana; but the conversation soon Bagged, and was followed by an uneasy silence. ‘ It is half-past six,’ said the barber presently. ' Then it Is time we took lanterns and went to look for him,’ said Brnno Bernardo. Some few minutes were spent in fetching the lanterns and putting in the candles. Meanwhile Sandro Quaranta-Sette looked out a strong rope, which he bound about bis body. The others took staves and bludgeons, and the two Bernados shouldered their fowling pieces. Then followed by all the men, boys, and stable-helps about the place, they set out in the direction of the pass. They had the mist and the wind at their backs; but it was so dark that, despite their lanterns, they could scarcely see their way for more than a oonple of yards ahead. _ A disagreeable night even for those who carried lanterns and were familar with every inch of the road ; but worse for a stranger ignorant of the country, and travelling in the opposite direction. * I had not thought it was so dark,’ said Sandro Quaranta- Sette. The elder landlord shook his head. *We ought to have had the lights out sooner,’ said the younger. Their way led for some distance under the walls of a long succession of olive-gardens ; the olive at La Spezzia, like the orange at Sorrento, being the staple growth of the place. Presently, as the valley narrowed, the rush of the torrent became audible; but neither the water below, nor the heights above, nor anything but the wet road and the rainpools under their feet were visible In the glimmer of the lanterns. At every hundred yards or so they paused —shouted—listened; then went on again ; then stopped again and shouted and listened as before. Tramping along thus carrying their lanterns low ; examining every foot of the road ; pausing at every fancied sound; staring into the darkness on either side; now and then exchanging a hurried word of warning or misgiving ; looking and seeing nothing; listening and hearing nothing ; getting more and more muddy, more anxious, more bewildered the farther they went and the later it grew, they came at last to the place called Grasal’a mill, about a mile from the old bridge, and half a mile from the spot at which Lord Braokenbnry alighted. * He must be down yonder,’ said Sandro Quaranta-Sette, coming to a halt. ‘Something must have happened—a sprain, or a slip—and he found his way down to the mill.’ Now the mill lay low by the torrent-side, a hundred feet or so below the level of the road. There were two ways of getting down to it; the one a rough oari-track, the other a steep but more direct footpath. Mr Fronting and the apothecary, not oaring to damage their broadcloth among bushes and briars went round by the cart-track. Sandro Qaaranta-Sette, the brothers Bernardo, and the others took the shorter way. (To be continued.)