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Updated: May 26, 2025
Two days passed three days and still the "agony" lasted. Lord Broadstone's house in Portman Square was besieged all day by anxious journalists watching the goings and comings of a Cabinet in the making. But nothing could be communicated to the newspapers nothing, in fact, was settled. Envoys went backward and forward to Lord Philip in Northamptonshire. Urgent telegrams invited him to London.
He had never thought that she behaved well to Ferrier, and he knew that she had behaved vilely to Diana; but his heart melted within him at the sight of a woman and a gray-haired woman in grief. "I hear you found Broadstone's letter?" He glanced at it on her lap. "I too have heard from him.
"I have written to Broadstone, and I have sent a preliminary statement to the papers." "I can take anything you want to town," said Marsham, hastily. "I must go up this evening." He handed Broadstone's telegram to Sir James. Chide read it and returned it in silence. Then he entered the ambulance, taking his seat beside the shrouded form within. Slowly it drove away, mounted police accompanying it.
He took no notice of the telegrams; he did not invite the envoys, and when they came he had little or nothing of interest to say to them. Lord Broadstone, he declared, was fully in possession of his views. He had nothing more to add. And, indeed, a short note from him laid by in the new Premier's pocket-book was, if the truth were known, the fons et origo of all Lord Broadstone's difficulties.
Marsham followed her version of the letter as well as he could; and as she turned the last page, he too perceived the pencilled writing, which was not Broadstone's. This she did not offer to communicate; indeed, she covered it at once with her hand. "Yes, I suppose it was the shock," he said, in a low voice. "But it was not Broadstone's fault. It was no one's fault."
"Lord Broadstone's messenger?" "He brought a letter for Mr. Ferrier, sir, half an hour ago." Chide's face changed. "Where is the letter?" He turned to the doctor, who shook his head. "I saw nothing when we brought him in." Marsham, who had overheard the conversation, came forward. "Perhaps on the grass " Chide pale, with drawn brows looked at him a moment in silence.
It ran beside a passage in the article "from a correspondent," and as he looked at it consciousness and pulse paused in dismay. There, under his eye, in that dim mark, was the last word and sign of John Ferrier. He was still staring at it when a sound disturbed him. Lady Lucy came to him, feebly, across the grass. Marsham dropped the newspaper, retaining Broadstone's letter.
Chide and the doctor were in low-voiced consultation at one end of the room; Lady Lucy sat beside the body, her face buried in her hands; Marsham stood behind her. Brown, the butler, noiselessly entered the room, and approached Chide. "Please sir, Lord Broadstone's messenger is here. He thinks you might wish him to take back a letter to his lordship." Chide turned abruptly.
Then he noticed a cushion which had fallen beside the chair, and a corner of newspaper peeping from below it. He lifted it up. Below lay Broadstone's open letter, in its envelope, addressed first in the Premier's well-known handwriting to "The Right Honble. John Ferrier, M.P." and, secondly, in wavering pencil, to "Lady Lucy Marsham, Tallyn Hall."
While she was reading it he raised the Herald again, unobserved, folded it up hurriedly, and put it in his pocket; then walked away a few steps, that he might leave his mother to her grief. Presently Lady Lucy called him. "Oliver!" The voice was strong. He went back to her and she received him with sparkling eyes, her hand on Broadstone's letter. "Oliver, this is what killed him!
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