England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Short stories, English
"I never knew that he had gone under an assumed name. The accusation is
one more likely to apply to his brother than to himself. James Fennel is
unscrupulous, very incautious: notwithstanding that, I like him better
than I like the other. There's something about Edwin Fennel that repels
you; at least, it does me; but one can hardly help liking James, mauvais
sujet though he is," added the speaker, pausing to flirt off the ashes
of his cigar.
"The doubt pointing to Edwin Fennel in the affair is his suddenly
decamping," continued Major Smith. "It was quite impromptu, you say,
Miss Preen?"
"Quite so. I feel sure he had no thought of going away in the morning;
and he did not receive any letter from England later, which was the
excuse he gave Nancy for departing. Rely upon it that what he heard
about the Mr. Dangerfield on the pier drove him away."
"Well, that looks suspicious, you see."
"Oh yes, I do see it," I answered, unable to conceal the pain I felt.
"It was a bitter calamity, Major Smith, when Nancy married him."
"I'll make a few cautious inquiries in the town, and try to find out if
there's anything against him in secret, or if any man named Dangerfield
has been in the place and got into a mess. But, indeed, I don't
altogether see that it could apply to him," concluded the major after a
pause. "One can't well go under two names in the same town; and every
one knows him as Edwin Fennel.--Here they are, some of them, coming
back!" And when the wanderers were close up, they found Major Smith
arguing with me about the architecture of the castle.
Ten o'clock. Time for bed. I am in no haste to go, for I don't sleep as
well as I used to.
A thought has lately sometimes crossed me that this miserable trouble
worries me more than it ought to do. "Accept it as your cross, and
_yield_ to it, Lavinia," says Mary Carimon to me. But I _cannot_ yield
to it; that is, I cannot in the least diminish the anxiety which always
clings to me, or forget the distress and dread that lie upon me like a
shadow. I know that my life has been on the whole an easy life--that
during all the years I spent at Selby Court I never had any trouble; I
know that crosses do come to us all, earlier or later, and that I ought
not to be surprised that "no new thing has happened to me," the world
being full of such experiences. I suppose it is because I have been so
exempt from care, that I feel this the more.
Half-past ten! just half-an-hour writing these last few lines and
_thinking_! Time I put up. I wonder when I shall hear from Nancy?
VI.
A curious phase, taken in conjunction with what was to follow, now
occurred in the history. Miss Preen began to experience a nervous dread
at going into the Petite Maison Rouge at night.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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