Aristocracy (Social class) -- England -- Fiction; England -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction; Rich people -- Fiction
They had now come near enough to the town to perceive in the haze the
square shoulders of its roofs and the tower of its famous church,
all blurred and blotted by the fog like a too-much-washed water-color
drawing. She did not seem to be tired, but she had lost her elasticity
of movement; her eyes looked straight ahead, and no longer turned to
meet his own frankly as they had done before. She seemed to wish to
be silent, so he let the conversation drop, and walked on beside her
mutely, as the straggling suburbs of a country town began to show
themselves in the more frequent cottages, in the occasional alehouse,
and in the presence of people in the roads, and in the small wayside
gardens where they were scraping and sweeping clear little paths from
the gates to the doors. Some of these, recognizing him, touched their
hats; he spoke to the most capable-looking, told them briefly of the
accident, and sent them on to the station-master, whilst he took his
companion to the Bell Inn, an old house which had been a busy and
prosperous place in the posting and coaching times of which he had
spoken. It stood in the centre of a market-place, which was alive
and noisy with country-folks once a week, but was now a desolate and
well-nigh empty place filled with wind and driven snow.
“If you will rest here ten minutes,” he said to her, “I will come back
as soon as I have seen the authorities and heard what they propose to
do, and I will tell you if the lines are safe and the wires in working
order. I am afraid you will find it very rough and uncomfortable, but
they are lighting the fire and the landlady is a good soul; my cousins
used to come and have some of her soup on hunting mornings; you will
like her, I think.”
He held open the door of the only sitting-room, and as she passed
within bowed very low to her and went out into the street again.
As he reached the middle of the market-place he heard his name spoken,
and, turning at the sound, saw her to his surprise coming toward him
from the entrance of the inn. He went back a few steps to meet her. She
was very pale still, and there was a pride which was almost aggressive
in her attitude as she stood still on the slippery trodden stones and
faced him.
“Pray do not come back to me,” she said coldly. “I can have all I need
here till my woman can join me. But there is something I ought to
tell you, and I ought also to thank you for all your good nature and
courtesy.”
She paused a moment whilst he looked at her in silence and surprise.
She was evidently speaking under the influence of some strong and
personal feeling.
“It is to Vale Royal that I am going,” she added with a visible effort.
“I am Katherine Massarene.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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