The Bride of Newgate by Carr John Dickson

Author:Carr, John Dickson [Carr, John Dickson]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781480472730
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2014-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter XIV

Of Dolly, and Fond Memory

WHEN DARWENT OPENED THE door of the Amber Room, he knew they were awaiting him, even before the cough which answered his knock.

Hangings of amber-colored silk, attire the style of Louis the Well-Beloved in France fifty years ago, were draped in folds from the ceiling and covered the walls except at the two windows opposite the door. The big ornate bedstead, its canopy weighted with more hangings of amber silk, had its head set between the two windows and its foot toward the door.

Darwent, as he entered, could not see Dolly. Mr. and Mrs. Raleigh, like a very small grenadier and a middle-sized grenadier, stood at the foot of the bed.

And something was wrong. Not hostile, but wrong.

Mrs. Raleigh, with the lace-edged cap round her plump face, was ill at ease despite her determined brightness. Mr. Raleigh, cadaverous-faced and bald-headed, held a book with one finger between the leaves; he was on his dignity, but his kindly eyes looked almost frightened.

“La,” cried Mrs. Raleigh, throwing up her hands, “and see who’s here!”

Augustus Raleigh smiled a sepulchral smile.

“I have been reading,” he said, in the bass voice which seemed to rise up from his gaiters, “the new romance by the author of Waverley. It is very good. I am told …”

“What’s the matter?” Darwent demanded bluntly.

“Matter?” repeated Mrs. Raleigh, with a mouth of surprise.

“I am told,” said Mr. Raleigh, holding up the book and inspecting it, “that the author’s identity is well known to many persons, though it is still officially a secret. Now, Dick.” He stopped. “If I may call you so?”

He held up the book with determined cheerfulness. “The new romance, in three volumes, by the author of Waverley: whoever he may be. It is very good.”

“Thank you,” answered Darwent, as he passed Mr. Raleigh on the left-hand side of the bed, and pressed his arm. “Thank you both.”

“Why, Dick, there’s very little to …”

“’Lo, my dearest,” murmured Dolly, smiling as well as she could.

In this line of houses built flat against each other, only the front room and the back room would have been visited by day-tight if they had not constructed a narrow air well for the middle rooms. The heavy orange-yellow curtains, touched by the dim gleam of the crimson lamp, showed—on either side of the bed—gray windows spattered with rain.

“I’m awfully sorry,” Dolly said apologetically, and weakly stretched out her hand. “I must ha’ been more ill than I thought I was.”

Her brown eyes were turned up at him, under the shadow of the canopy where the bed curtains were looped back. Her yellow hair, again carefully done in curls, hung well below the ears. Only her white-silk nightgown, clearly belonging to Caroline and cut like an evening gown, showed her uneven breathing. But she still tried to smile.

“I’m as well as beans now, Dick,” she assured him. “Truly I am!”

“Well!” cried Mrs. Raleigh, as usual erupting into tears. “Here’s the poor girl half recovered, by a miracle it is

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