Autobiographical fiction; England -- Fiction; Feminist fiction; Governesses -- Fiction; Single women -- Fiction
I came down a little before eight, next morning, as I knew by the
striking of a distant clock. There was no appearance of breakfast. I
waited above an hour before it came, still vainly longing for access to
the library; and, after that lonely repast was concluded, I waited
again about an hour and a half in great suspense and discomfort,
uncertain what to do. At length Lady Ashby came to bid me good-morning.
She informed me she had only just breakfasted, and now wanted me to
take an early walk with her in the park. She asked how long I had been
up, and on receiving my answer, expressed the deepest regret, and again
promised to show me the library. I suggested she had better do so at
once, and then there would be no further trouble either with
remembering or forgetting. She complied, on condition that I would not
think of reading, or bothering with the books now; for she wanted to
show me the gardens, and take a walk in the park with me, before it
became too hot for enjoyment; which, indeed, was nearly the case
already. Of course I readily assented; and we took our walk
accordingly.
As we were strolling in the park, talking of what my companion had seen
and heard during her travelling experience, a gentleman on horseback
rode up and passed us. As he turned, in passing, and stared me full in
the face, I had a good opportunity of seeing what he was like. He was
tall, thin, and wasted, with a slight stoop in the shoulders, a pale
face, but somewhat blotchy, and disagreeably red about the eyelids,
plain features, and a general appearance of languor and flatness,
relieved by a sinister expression in the mouth and the dull, soulless
eyes.
“I detest that man!” whispered Lady Ashby, with bitter emphasis, as he
slowly trotted by.
“Who is it?” I asked, unwilling to suppose that she should so speak of
her husband.
“Sir Thomas Ashby,” she replied, with dreary composure.
“And do you _detest_ him, Miss Murray?” said I, for I was too much
shocked to remember her name at the moment.
“Yes, I do, Miss Grey, and despise him too; and if you knew him you
would not blame me.”
“But you knew what he was before you married him.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account