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Updated: May 28, 2025
He would open the envelope and see what Colquhoun had to say. He opened it very slowly. Then he started, and his hand began to tremble. The only letter enclosed was one in his mother's handwriting. Upon a slip of blue paper were a few words from the lawyer. "Forwarded to Mr. Brian Luttrell at Mrs. Luttrell's request on the 25th of October, 1877, by James Colquhoun." Brian opened the letter.
No: she knew that this man was a mere tool of Hugo's; she could not trust him to help her against her husband's will. There was nothing for it but to do what she could, without help from anyone. She would be brave for Mrs. Luttrell's sake, although she had not been brave for her own. Oh, why had she not made her warning to Vivian a little stronger?
She was in the deepest possible mourning; even the handkerchief that she held in her hand was edged with two or three inches of black. Brian looked round for Angela; he had expected to find her with his mother, but she was not there. The door into Mrs. Luttrell's bed-room was partly open. "How is Angela?" he asked. "Angela is not well.
But he will not come unless I summon him." "But the other servants " "There are no other servants in this part of the house. The kitchen-maid and the nurse sleep close to Mrs. Luttrell's room so far away that not your loudest scream would reach their ears. You are in my power, Kitty. I could kill you if I liked, and nobody could interfere." What strange light was that within his eyes?
He had said his last word concerning Stella Croyle. But Hillyard was wrong. For in the dark of the morning, when he had bestridden his donkey and given the order for his caravan to march, he was hailed by Luttrell's voice. He stopped, and Luttrell came down in his pyjamas from the door of the house to him. "Good luck," he said, and he patted the donkey's neck. "Good luck, old man.
Luttrell's father, don't you?" "Not I." "Gordon Murray this Miss Murray's father was next heir after the two Luttrells, if they died childless. Of course, Brian is still living; but if he died, Miss Murray would inherit, I understand." "There's not much chance," said Percival, lightly. "Not much," responded Vivian. They were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Luttrell's suspicions, the statement made by Vincenza's husband and mother, the confession of another woman who was Vincenza's accomplice, all form corroborative evidence which will, I think, be quite sufficient to prove the case. So, at least, Messrs. Brett and Grattan assure me, and they have gone carefully into the matter, and have the original papers in their possession."
Crampton says that she knows her master would approve, so I suppose we need not be too scrupulous," observed Marcus; but at that moment the surgery bell rang. Dr. Luttrell's services were required at number seventeen, and with an expressive look at his wife Marcus took up his hat and hastened out.
He himself took life so easily fretted so little against the inevitable that he scarcely understood the look of anguish which an hour or two of trouble had imprinted upon Brian Luttrell's face. It was the kind of sorrow which has been known to turn a man's hair from black to white in a single night. "I will knock at the door," said the doctor.
"I was impatient. I am sorry." More and more, just because of this detail, she was ready to believe that Harry Luttrell had left her for some reason quite outside themselves, for some other reason than weariness and the swift end of passion. "Luttrell's father, his grandfather and many others of his name had served in the Clayford Regiment.
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