A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 2 of 3)Marryat, Florence
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A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 2 of 3)
Marryat, Florence
English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
‘And Mr Greenslade, he was just as bad. They didn’t eat enough to keep a
well-grown child between the two of them.’
‘What-aged people were they?’ I asked.
‘Well, sir, I can hardly say; they weren’t young nor yet old. Mr
Greenslade, he may have been about fifty, and his lady a year or two
younger; but I never took much count of that. But the gentleman looked
much the oldest of the two, by reason of a stoop in his shoulders and a
constant cough that seemed to tear his chest to pieces. I’ve known him
shut himself up in the parlour the whole night long, coughing away fit to
keep the whole house awake. And his breathing, sir—you could hear it half
a mile off.’
‘He was _assmatical_, poor man! that’s where it was,’ interposed Mr
Browser.
‘Well, I don’t know what his complaint was called, Browser; but he made
noise enough over it to wake the dead. But don’t you go interrupting
me no more after that fashion, or the gentleman and lady will never
understand the half of my story, and I’m just coming to the cream of it.’
‘I assure you we are deeply interested in what you are telling us,’ I
said, politely.
‘It’s very good of you to compliment me, sir, but I expect it will
make matters clearer to you by-and-by. You’re not the first tenants of
Rushmere I’ve had to tell this tale to, I can tell you, and you won’t be
the last, either. One night, when I couldn’t sleep for his nasty cough,
and lay awake, wishing to goodness he’d go to bed like a Christian, I
made sure I heard footsteps in the hall, a-creeping and a-creeping about
like, as though some one was feeling their way round the house. “It can’t
be the mistress,” I thought, “and maybe it’s robbers, as have little idea
the master’s shut up in the study.” So I opened the door quickly, but I
could see nothing.’
‘Exactly my own experience,’ I exclaimed.
‘Ah, sir, maybe; but they weren’t the same footsteps, poor dear. I wish
they had been, and she had the same power to tread now she had then. The
hall was empty; but at the same time I heard the master groaning and
cursing most awful in the parlour, and I went into my own room again,
that I mightn’t listen to his wicked oaths and words. I always hated and
distrusted that man from the beginning. The next day I mentioned I had
heard footsteps, before ’em both, and the rage Mr Greenslade put himself
into was terrible. He said no robbers had better break into his house, or
he’d shoot them dead as dogs. Afterwards his wife came to me and asked me
what sort of footsteps they seemed; and when I told her, she cried upon
my neck, and begged me if ever I heard a woman’s step to say nothing of
it to her husband.
‘“A woman’s step, ma’am,” I replied; “why, what woman would dare break
into a house?”
‘But she only cried the more, and held her tongue.
‘But that evening I heard their voices loud in the parlour, and there was
a regular dispute between them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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