It was a fine morning at the beginning of April; the sun being
particularly welcome, as Sainteville had latterly been favoured with
a spell of ill-natured, bitter east winds. About eleven o'clock, Miss
Preen and her sister turned out of their house to take a walk on the
pier--which they liked to do most days, wind and weather permitting. In
going down the Rue des Arbres, they were met by a fresh-looking little
elderly gentleman, with rather long white hair, and wearing a white
necktie. He stopped to salute the ladies, bowing ceremoniously low
to each of them. It was Monsieur le Docteur Dupuis, a kindly man of
skilful reputation, who had now mostly, though not altogether, given up
practice to his son, Monsieur Henri Dupuis. Miss Lavinia had a little
acquaintance with the doctor, and took occasion to ask him news of the
public welfare; for there was raging in the town the malady called "la
grippe," which, being interpreted, means influenza.
It was not much better at present, Monsieur Dupuis answered; but this
genial sunshine he hoped would begin to drive it away; and, with another
bow, he passed onward.
The pier was soon reached, and they enjoyed their walk upon it. The
sunlight glinted on the rather turbulent waves of the sea in the
distance, but there was not much breeze to be felt on land. When
nearing the end of the pier their attention was attracted to a
fishing-boat, which was tumbling about rather unaccountably in its
efforts to make the harbour.
"It almost looks from here as though it had lost its rudder, Nancy,"
remarked Miss Lavinia.
They halted, and stood looking over the side at the object of interest;
not particularly noticing that a gentleman stood near them, also looking
at the same through an opera-glass. He was spare, of middle height and
middle age; his hair was grey, his face pale and impassive; the light
over-coat he wore was of fashionable English cut.
"Oh, Lavinia, look, look! It is coming right on to the end of the pier,"
cried Ann Preen.
"Hush, Nancy, don't excite yourself," said Miss Lavinia, in lowered
tones. "It will take care not to do that."
The gentleman gave a wary glance at them. He saw two ladies dressed
alike, in handsome black velvet mantles, and bonnets with violet
feathers; by which he judged them to be sisters, though there was no
resemblance in face. The elder had clear-cut features, a healthy colour,
dark brown hair, worn plain, and a keen, sensible expression. The other
was fair, with blue eyes and light ringlets.
"Pardon me," he said, turning to them, and his accent was that of a
gentleman. "May I offer you the use of my glasses?"
"Oh, thank you!" exclaimed Nancy, in a light tone bordering on a giggle;
and she accepted the glasses. She was evidently pleased with the offer
and with the stranger.
Lavinia, on the contrary, was not. The moment she saw his full face
she shrank from it--shrank from him. The feeling might have been as
unaccountable as that which came over her when she had been first
entering the Petite Maison Rouge; but it was there. However, she put it
from her, and thanked him.
"I don't think I see so well with the glasses as without them; it seems
all a mist," remarked Nancy, who was standing next the stranger.
"They are not properly focused for you. Allow me," said he, as he took
the glasses from her to alter them. "Young eyes need a less powerful
focus than elderly ones like mine."
He spoke in a laughing tone; Nancy, fond of compliments, giggled
outright this time. She was approaching forty; he might have been ten
years older. They continued standing there, watching the fishing-boat,
and exchanging remarks at intervals. When it had made the harbour
without accident, the Miss Preens wished him good-morning, and went back
down the pier; he took off his hat to them, and walked the other way.
"What a _charming_ man!" exclaimed Nancy, when they were at a safe
distance.
"I don't like him," dissented Lavinia.
"Not like him!" echoed the other in surprise. "Why, Lavinia, his manners
are delightful. I wonder who he is?"
When nearly home, in turning into the Place Ronde, they met an English
lady of their acquaintance, the wife of Major Smith. She had been
ordering a dozen of vin Picardin from the Maison Rouge. As they stood
talking together, the gentleman of the pier passed up the Rue de Tessin.
He lifted his hat, and they all, including Mrs. Smith, bowed.
"Do you know him?" quickly asked Nancy, in a whisper.
"Hardly that," answered Mrs. Smith. "When we were passing the Hôtel des
Princes this morning, a gentleman turned out of the courtyard, and he
and my husband spoke to one another. The major said to me afterwards
that he had formerly been in the--I forget which--regiment. He called
him Mr. Fennel."
Now, as ill-fortune had it, Miss Preen found herself very poorly after
she got home. She began to sneeze and cough, and thought she must have
taken cold through standing on the pier to watch the vagaries of the
fishing-smack.
"I hope you are not going to have the influenza!" cried Nancy, her blue
eyes wide with concern.
But the influenza it proved to be. Miss Preen seemed about to have it
badly, and lay in bed the next day. Nancy proposed to send Flore for
Monsieur Dupuis, but Lavinia said she knew how to treat herself as well
as he could treat her.
The next day she was no better. Poor Nancy had to go out alone, or to
stay indoors. She did not like doing the latter at all; it was too dull;
her own inclination would have led her abroad all day long and every
day.
"I saw Captain Fennel on the pier again," said she to her sister that
afternoon, when she was making the tea at Lavinia's bedside, Flore
having carried up the tray.
"I hope you did not talk to him, Ann," spoke the invalid, as well as she
could articulate.
"I talked a little," said Nancy, turning hot, conscious that she had
gossiped with him for three-quarters-of-an-hour. "He stopped to speak to
me; I could not walk on rudely."
"Any way, don't talk to him again, my dear. I do not like that man."
"What is there to dislike in him, Lavinia?"
"That I can't say. His countenance is not a good one; it is shifty and
deceitful. He is a man you could never trust."
"I'm sure I've heard you say the same of other people."
"Because I can read faces," returned Lavinia.
"Oh--well--I consider Captain Fennel's is a _handsome_ face," debated
Nancy.
"Why do you call him 'Captain'?"
"He calls himself so," answered Nancy. "I suppose it was his rank in the
army when he retired. They retain it afterwards by courtesy, don't they,
Lavinia?"
"I am not sure. It depends upon whether they retire in rotation or sell
out, I fancy. Mrs. Smith said the major called him Mr. Fennel, and he
ought to know. There, I can't talk any more, Nancy, and the man is
nothing to us, that we need discuss him."
La grippe had taken rather sharp hold of Lavinia Preen, and she was
upstairs for ten days. On the first afternoon she went down to the
salon, Captain Fennel called, very much to her surprise; and, also to
her surprise, he and Nancy appeared to be pretty intimate.
In point of fact, they had met every day, generally upon the pier. Nancy
had said nothing about it at home. She was neither sly nor deceitful
in disposition; rather notably simple and unsophisticated; but, after
Lavinia's reproof the first time she told about meeting him, she would
not tell again.
Miss Preen behaved coolly to him; which he would not appear to see. She
sat over the fire, wrapped in a shawl, for it was a cold afternoon. He
stayed only a little time, and put his card down on the slab near the
stairs when he left. Lavinia had it brought to her.
"Mr. Edwin Fennel."
"Then he is not Captain Fennel," she observed. "But, Nancy, what in the
world could have induced the man to call here? And how is it you seem to
be familiar with him?"
"I have met him out-of-doors, sometimes, while you were ill," said
Nancy. "As to his calling here--he came, I suppose, out of politeness.
There's no harm in it, Lavinia."
Miss Lavinia did not say there was. But she disliked the man too much to
favour his acquaintanceship. Instinct warned her against him.
How little was she prepared for what was to follow! Before she was well
out-of-doors again, before she had been anywhere except to church, Nancy
gave her a shock. With no end of simperings and blushings, she confessed
that she had been asked to marry Captain Fennel.
Had Miss Lavinia Preen been herself politely asked to marry a certain
gentleman popularly supposed to reside underground, she would not have
been much more indignantly startled. Perhaps "frightened" would be the
better word for it.
"But--you _would_ not, Nancy!" she gasped, when she found her voice.
"I don't know," simpered foolish Nancy. "I--I--think him very nice and
gentlemanly, Lavinia."
Lavinia came out of her fright sufficiently to reason. She strove to
show Nancy how utterly unwise such a step would be. They knew nothing
of Captain Fennel or his antecedents; to become his wife might just be
courting misery and destruction. Nancy ceased to argue; and Lavinia
hoped she had yielded.
Both sisters kept a diary. But for that fact, and also that the diaries
were preserved, Featherston could not have arrived at the details of the
story so perfectly. About this time, a trifle earlier or later, Ann
Preen wrote as follows in hers:
"_April 16th._--I met Captain Fennel on the pier again this morning. I
do _think_ he goes there because he knows he may meet me. Lavinia is not
out yet; she has not quite got rid of that Grip, as they stupidly call
it here. I'm sure it has gripped _her_. We walked quite to the end of
the pier, and then I sat down on the edge for a little while, and he
stood talking to me. I do wish I could tell Lavinia of these meetings;
but she was so cross the first day I met him, and told her of it, that I
don't like to. Captain Fennel lent me his glasses as usual, and I looked
at the London steamer, which was coming in. Somehow we fell to talking
of the Smiths; he said they were poor, had not much more than the
major's half-pay. 'Not like you rich people, Miss Nancy,' he said--he
thinks that's my right name. 'Your income is different from theirs.'
'Oh,' I screamed out, 'why, it's only a hundred and forty pounds
a-year!' 'Well,' he answered, smiling, 'that's a comfortable sum for
a place like this; five francs will buy as much at Sainteville as
half-a-sovereign will in England.' Which is pretty nearly true."
Skipping a few entries of little importance, we come to another:
"_May 1st_, and such a lovely day!--It reminds me of one May-day at
home, when the Jacks-in-the-green were dancing on the grass-plot before
the Court windows at Buttermead, and Mrs. Selby sat watching them, as
pleased as they were, saying she should like to dance, too, if she
could only go first to the mill to be ground young again. Jane and Edith
Peckham were spending the day with us. It was just such a day as this,
warm and bright; light, fleecy clouds flitting across the blue sky. I
wish Lavinia were out to enjoy it! but she is hardly strong enough for
long walks yet, and only potters about, when she does get out, in the
Rue des Arbres or the Grande Place, or perhaps over to see Mary Carimon.
"I don't know what to do. I lay awake all last night, and sat moping
yesterday, thinking what I _could_ do. Edwin wants me to marry him; I
told Lavinia, and she absolutely forbids it, saying I should rush upon
misery. _He_ says I should be happy as the day's long. I feel like a
distracted lunatic, not knowing which of them is right, or which opinion
I ought to yield to. I have obeyed Lavinia all my life; we have never
had a difference before; her wishes have been mine, and mine have been
hers. But I _can't_ see why she need have taken up this prejudice
against him, for I'm sure he's more like an angel than a man; and, as he
whispers to me, Nancy Fennel would be a prettier name than Nancy Preen.
I said to him to-day, 'My name is Ann, not really Nancy.' 'My dear,' he
answered, 'I shall always call you Nancy; I love the simple name.'
"I no longer talk about him to Lavinia, or let her suspect that we still
meet on the pier. It would make her angry, and I can't bear that. I dare
not hint to her what Edwin said to-day--that he should take matters into
his own hands. He means to go over to Dover, _viâ_ Calais; stay at Dover
a fortnight, as the marriage law requires, and then come back to fetch
me; and after the marriage has taken place we shall return here to live.
"Oh dear, what am I to do? It will be a _dreadful_ thing to deceive
Lavinia; and it will be equally dreadful to lose _him_. He declares that
if I do not agree to this he shall set sail for India (where he used to
be with his regiment), and never, never see me again. Good gracious!
_never_ to see me again!
"The worst is, he wants to go off to Dover at once, giving one no time
for consideration! Must I say Yes, or No? The uncertainty shakes me to
pieces. He laughed to-day when I said something of this, assuring me
Lavinia's anger would pass away like a summer cloud when I was his wife;
that sisters had no authority over one another, and that Lavinia's
opposition arose from selfishness only, because she did not want to lose
me. '_Risk it_, Nancy,' said he; 'she will receive you with open arms
when I bring you back from Dover.' If I could only think so! Now and
then I feel inclined to confide my dilemma to Mary Carimon, and ask her
opinion, only that I fear she might tell Lavinia."
* * * * *
Mr. Edwin Fennel quitted Sainteville. When he was missed people thought
he might have gone for good. But one Saturday morning some time onwards,
when the month of May was drawing towards its close, Miss Lavinia, out
with Nancy at market, came full upon Captain Fennel in the crowd on the
Grande Place. He held out his hand.
"I thought you had left Sainteville, Mr. Fennel," she remarked, meeting
his hand and the sinister look in his face unwillingly.
"Got back this morning," he said; "travelled by night. Shall be leaving
again to-day or to-morrow. How are _you_, Miss Nancy?"
Lavinia pushed her way to the nearest poultry stall. "Will you come
here, Ann?" she said. "I want to choose a fowl."
She began to bargain, half in French, half in English, with the poultry
man, all to get rid of that other man, and she looked round, expecting
Nancy had followed her. Nancy had not stirred from the spot near the
butter-baskets: she and Captain Fennel had their heads together, he
talking hard and fast.
They saw Lavinia looking at them; looking angry, too. "Remember,"
impressively whispered Captain Fennel to Nancy: and, lifting his hat to
Lavinia, over the white caps of the market-women, he disappeared across
the Place.
"I wonder what that man has come back for?" cried Miss Preen, as Nancy
reached her--not that she had any suspicion. "And I wonder you should
stay talking with him, Nancy!"
Nancy did not answer.
Sending Flore--who had attended them with her market-basket--home with
the fowl and eggs and vegetables, they called at the butcher's and the
grocer's, and then went home themselves. Miss Preen then remembered
that she had forgotten one or two things, and must go out again. Nancy
remained at home. When Lavinia returned, which was not for an hour, for
she had met various friends and stayed to gossip, her sister was in
her room. Flore thought Mademoiselle Nancy was setting her drawers to
rights: she had heard her opening and shutting them.
Time went on until the afternoon. Just before five o'clock, when Flore
came into lay the cloth for dinner, Lavinia, sitting at the window, saw
her sister leave the house and cross the yard, a good-sized paper parcel
in her hand.
"Why, that is Miss Nancy," she exclaimed, in much surprise. "Where can
she be going to now?"
"Miss Nancy came down the stairs as I was coming in here," replied
Flore. "She said to me that she had just time to run to Madame Carimon's
before dinner."
"Hardly," dissented Miss Lavinia. "What can she be going for?"
As five o'clock struck, Flore (always punctual, from self-interest) came
in to ask if she should serve the fish; but was told to wait until Miss
Nancy returned. When half-past five was at hand, and Nancy had not
appeared, Miss Preen ordered the fish in, remarking that Madame Carimon
must be keeping her sister to dinner.
Afterwards Miss Preen set out for the casino, expecting she should meet
them both there; for Lavinia and Nancy had intended to go. Madame
Carimon was not a subscriber, but she sometimes paid her ten sous and
went in. It would be quite a pretty sight to-night--a children's dance.
Lavinia soon joined some friends there, but the others did not come.
At eight o'clock she was in the Rue Pomme Cuite, approaching Madame
Carimon's. Pauline, in her short woollen petticoats, and shoeless feet
thrust into wooden sabots, was splashing buckets of water before the
door to scrub the pavement, and keeping up a screaming chatter with the
other servants in the street, who were doing the same, Saturday-night
fashion.
Madame Carimon was in the salon, sitting idle in the fading light; her
sewing lay on the table. Lavinia's eyes went round the room, but she saw
no one else in it.
"Mary, where is Nancy?" she asked, as Madame Carimon rose to greet her
with outstretched hands.
"I'm sure I don't know," answered Madame Carimon lightly. "She has not
been here. Did you think she had?"
"She dined here--did she not?"
"What, Nancy? Oh no! I and Jules dined alone. He is out now, giving a
French lesson. I have not seen Nancy since--let me see--since Thursday,
I think; the day before yesterday."
Lavinia Preen sat down, half-bewildered. She related the history of the
evening.
"It is elsewhere that Nancy is gone," remarked Madame Carimon. "Flore
must have misunderstood her."
Concluding that to be the case, and that Nancy might already be at
home, Lavinia returned at once to the Petite Maison Rouge, Mary Carimon
bearing her company in the sweet summer twilight. Lavinia opened the
door with her latch-key. Flore had departed long before. There were
three latch-keys to the house, Nancy possessing one of them.
They looked into every room, and called out "Nancy! Nancy!" But she was
not there.
Nancy Preen had gone off with Captain Fennel by the six-o'clock train,
en route for Dover, there to be converted into Mrs. Fennel.
And had Nancy foreseen the terrible events and final crime which this
most disastrous step would bring about, she might have chosen, rather
than take it, to run away to the Protestant cemetery outside the gates
of Sainteville, there to lay herself down to die.