Curious, if True: Strange TalesGaskell, Elizabeth Cleghorn
General
Curious, if True: Strange Tales
Gaskell, Elizabeth Cleghorn
Curiosities and wonders -- Fiction; Horror tales; Short stories
One other such story as those they had
been relating, and I do believe Amante would have fainted.
As it was, a night's rest set her up; we arose and finished our work
betimes, and shared the plentiful breakfast of the family. Then we had
to set forth again; only knowing that to Forbach we must not go, yet
believing, as was indeed the case, that Forbach lay between us and that
Germany to which we were directing our course. Two days more we
wandered on, making a round, I suspect, and returning upon the road to
Forbach, a league or two nearer to that town than the blacksmith's
house. But as we never made inquiries I hardly knew where we were, when
we came one night to a small town, with a good large rambling inn in
the very centre of the principal street. We had begun to feel as if
there were more safety in towns than in the loneliness of the country.
As we had parted with a ring of mine not many days before to a
travelling jeweller, who was too glad to purchase it far below its real
value to make many inquiries as to how it came into the possession of a
poor working tailor, such as Amante seemed to be, we resolved to stay
at this inn all night, and gather such particulars and information as
we could by which to direct our onward course.
We took our supper in the darkest corner of the salle-à-manger, having
previously bargained for a small bedroom across the court, and over the
stables. We needed food sorely; but we hurried on our meal from dread
of any one entering that public room who might recognize us. Just in
the middle of our meal, the public diligence drove lumbering up under
the _porte-cochère_, and disgorged its passengers. Most of them turned
into the room where we sat, cowering and fearful, for the door was
opposite to the porter's lodge, and both opened on to the wide-covered
entrance from the street. Among the passengers came in a young,
fair-haired lady, attended by an elderly French maid. The poor young
creature tossed her head, and shrank away from the common room, full of
evil smells and promiscuous company, and demanded, in German French, to
be taken to some private apartment. We heard that she and her maid had
come in the coupé, and, probably from pride, poor young lady! she had
avoided all association with her fellow-passengers, thereby exciting
their dislike and ridicule. All these little pieces of hearsay had a
significance to us afterwards, though, at the time, the only remark
made that bore upon the future was Amante's whisper to me that the
young lady's hair was exactly the colour of mine, which she had cut off
and burnt in the stove in the miller's kitchen in one of her descents
from our hiding-place in the loft.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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