Conspiracies -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; Ireland -- Fiction; Married women -- Fiction; Secret societies -- Fiction; Suspense fiction
She had so managed her departure from Passy as to precede Lord Harry
and Mr. Vimpany, and to watch for their arrival in Paris by a later
train. They had driven from the railway to the newspaper office---with
the maid in attendance on them in another cab. When they separated, the
doctor proceeded on foot to the Luxembourg Gardens. Wearing a plain
black dress, and protected from close observation by her veil, Fanny
followed him, cautiously keeping at a sufficient distance, now on one
side of the street and now on the other. When my lord joined his
friend, she just held them in view, and no more, as they walked up and
down in the barest and loneliest part of the Gardens that they could
find. Their talk having come to an end, they parted. Her master was the
first who came out into the street; walking at a great rate, and
looking most desperately upset. Mr. Vimpany next appeared, sauntering
along with his hands in his pockets, grinning as if his own villainous
thoughts were thoroughly amusing him. Fanny was now more careful than
ever not to lose sight of the doctor. The course which he pursued led
them to the famous hospital called the Hotel Dieu.
At the entrance she saw him take a letter out of his pocket, and give
it to the porter. Soon afterwards, a person appeared who greeted him
politely, and conducted him into the building. For more than an hour,
Fanny waited to see Mr. Vimpany come out again, and waited in vain.
What could he possibly want in a French hospital? And why had he
remained in that foreign institution for so long a time? Baffled by
these mysteries, and weary after much walking, Fanny made the best of
her way home, and consulted her mistress.
Even if Iris had been capable of enlightening her, the opportunity was
wanting. Lord Harry entered the room, with the letter which he had just
written, open in his hand, As a matter of course, the maid retired.
CHAPTER XL
DIRE NECESSITY
THE Irish lord had a word to say to his wife, before he submitted to
her the letter which he had just written.
He had been summoned to a meeting of proprietors at the office of the
newspaper, convened to settle the terms of a new subscription rendered
necessary by unforeseen expenses incurred in the interests of the
speculation. The vote that followed, after careful preliminary
consultation, authorised a claim on the purses of subscribing
proprietors, which sadly reduced the sum obtained by Lord Harry's
promissory note. Nor was this inconvenience the only trial of endurance
to which the Irish lord was compelled to submit. The hope which he had
entertained of assistance from the profits of the new journal, when
repayment of the loan that he had raised became due, was now plainly
revealed as a delusion. Ruin stared him in the face, unless he could
command the means of waiting for the pecuniary success of the
newspaper, during an interval variously estimated at six months, or
even at a year to come.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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