Roland Yorke: A Sequel to "The Channings"Wood, Henry, Mrs.
General
Roland Yorke: A Sequel to "The Channings"
Wood, Henry, Mrs.
Detective and mystery stories; English fiction -- 19th century
"But what caused the crash of glass?" asked practical Mrs. J.
"Oh, Bede's elbow had touched a perfume fountain of crimson glass, and
sent it over," said Roland carelessly. "It was a beautiful thing,
costing I'm sure no end of money, and Mrs. Bede had filled it with
scent for the evening. She'll go in a tantrum over it when the company
departs. Were I Bede I should tell her it blew up of itself."
"Is Miss Clare Joliffe staying there?"
"Got there today by the boat. The Joliffes are living in France now.
She says it is the first time Mrs. Bede has invited any of them inside
the doors: it was the thought of that, you know, that caused her to go
on so. Not that I like Mrs. Bede much better than she does. She can be
a Tyrant when she likes, Mrs. J.!"
"To her husband?"
"Oh, I don't know anything about that. Bede's big enough to put her
down if she tries it on with him. She is one in the house."
"Like a good many other mistresses," remarked Mrs. J. "I wish Alletha
would make haste."
"She never asked Miss Channing and little Greatorex to her party
tonight," continued Roland. "Not that it was any loss for Miss
Channing, you know; only I went there thinking to see her. Old
Greatorex had them to spend the evening in his parlour. Had I been
Hamish I should just have said, 'Where's my sister that she is not
present?' Oh, yes, she _can_ be a Tyrant! And do you know, what with
one cross thing and another, I forgot to ask Hamish if he had heard
the news about Arthur. It went clean out of my mind."
Mrs. Jones, rather particularly occupied with a knot in her work, made
no reply. Roland, thinking perhaps his revelations as to Mrs. Bede had
been sufficiently extensive, sat for some minutes in silence; his face
bent forward, his elbow on his knee, and pulling at his whiskers in
deep thought.
"I say, Mrs. J., how much do you think two people could live upon?" he
burst forth.
"That depends upon who they are, Mr. Yorke."
"Well, I mean--I don't mind telling you in confidence--me and another.
A wife, for instance."
Had Roland said Me and a Kangaroo, Mrs. Jones could not have looked at
him with more surprise--albeit not one to be surprised in general.
"I'd like to take her from there, for she's shamefully tyrannized
over. We need not mention names, but you guess I dare say who's meant,
and you are not to go and repeat it to the parish. If I could get my
pay increased to three or four times what it is, by dint of doing
extra work and putting my shoulder to the wheel in earnest; and if
she could get a couple of nice morning pupils at about fifty pounds
apiece, that would make three hundred a year. Now don't you think,
Mrs. Jenkins, we might get along with that?"
"Well--yes," answered Mrs. Jones, speaking with some hesitation, and
rather to satisfy the earnest, eager face waiting for her decision,
than in accordance with her true belief. "The worst of it is that
prospects rarely turn out as they are expected to."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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