"Where _can_ Nancy be?"
Miss Preen spoke these words to Mary Carimon in a sort of flurry. After
letting themselves into the house, the Petite Maison Rouge, and calling
up and down it in vain for Nancy, the question as to where she could be
naturally arose.
"She must be spending the evening with the friends she stayed to dine
with," said Madame Carimon.
"I don't know where she would be likely to stay. Unless--yes--perhaps
at Mrs. Hardy's."
"That must be it, Lavinia," pronounced Madame Carimon.
It was then getting towards nine o'clock. They set out again for Mrs.
Hardy's to escort Nancy home. She lived in the Rue Lothaire; a long
street, leading to the railway-station.
Mrs. Hardy was an elderly lady. When near her door they saw her
grand-nephew, Charles Palliser, turn out of it. Charley was a
good-hearted young fellow, the son of a rich merchant in London. He
was staying at Sainteville for the purpose of acquiring the art of
speaking French as a native.
"Looking for Miss Ann Preen!" cried he, as they explained in a word or
two. "No, she is not at our house; has not been there. I saw her going
off this evening by the six-o'clock train."
"Going off by the six-o'clock train!" echoed Miss Lavinia, staring at
him. "Why, what do you mean, Mr. Charles? My sister has not gone off by
any train."
"It was in this way," answered the young man, too polite to flatly
contradict a lady. "Mrs. Hardy's cousin, Louise Soubitez, came to town
this morning; she spent the day with us, and after dinner I went to see
her off by the train. And there, at the station, was Miss Ann Preen."
"But not going away by train," returned Miss Lavinia.
"Why, yes, she was. I watched the train out of the station. She and
Louise Soubitez sat in the same compartment."
A smile stole to Charles Palliser's face. In truth, he was amused at
Miss Lavinia's consternation. It suddenly struck her that the young man
was joking.
"Did you speak to Ann, Mr. Charles?"
"Oh yes; just a few words. There was not time for much conversation;
Louise was late."
Miss Preen felt a little shaken.
"Was Ann alone?"
"No; she was with Captain Fennel."
And, with that, a suspicion of the truth, and the full horror of it,
dawned upon Lavinia Preen. She grasped Madame Carimon's arm and turned
white as death.
"It never can be," she whispered, her lips trembling: "it never can be!
She cannot have--have--run away--with that man!"
Unconsciously perhaps to herself, her eyes were fixed on Charles. He
thought the question was put to him, and answered it.
"Well--I--I'm afraid it looks like it, as she seems to have said nothing
to you," he slowly said. "But I give you my word, Miss Preen, that until
this moment that aspect of the matter never suggested itself to me. I
supposed they were just going up the line together for some purpose or
other; though, in fact, I hardly thought about it at all."
"And perhaps that is all the mystery!" interposed Madame Carimon
briskly. "He may have taken Ann to Drecques for a little jaunt, and they
will be back again by the last train. It must be almost due, Lavinia."
With one impulse they turned to the station, which was near at hand.
Drecques, a village, was the first place the trains stopped at on the
up-line. The passengers were already issuing from the gate. Standing
aside until all had passed, and not seeing Nancy anywhere, Charley
Palliser looked into the omnibuses. But she was not there.
"They may have intended to come back and missed the train, Miss Preen;
it's very easy to miss a train," said he in his good nature.
"I think it must be so, Lavinia," spoke up Madame Carimon. "Any way,
we will assume it until we hear to the contrary. And, Charley, we had
better not talk of this to-night."
"_I_ won't," answered Charley earnestly. "You may be sure of me."
Unless Captain Fennel and Miss Ann Preen chartered a balloon, there was
little probability of their reaching Sainteville that evening, for this
had been the last train. Lavinia Preen passed a night of discomfort,
striving to hope against hope, as the saying runs. Not a very wise
saying; it might run better, striving to hope against despair.
When Sunday did not bring back the truants, or any news of them, the
three in the secret--Mary Carimon, Lavinia, and Charley Palliser--had
little doubt that the disappearance meant an elopement. Monsieur Jules
Carimon, not easily understanding such an escapade, so little in
accordance with the customs and manners of his own country, said in his
wife's ear he hoped it would turn out that there was a marriage in the
case.
Miss Preen received a letter from Dover pretty early in the week,
written by Ann. She had been married that day to Captain Fennel.
Altogether, the matter was the most bitter blow ever yet dealt to
Lavinia Preen. No living being knew, or ever would know, how cruelly her
heart was wrung by it. But, being a kindly woman of good sound sense,
she saw that the best must be made of it, not the worst; and this she
set herself out to do. She began by hoping that her own instinct,
warning her against Captain Fennel, might be a mistaken one, and that he
had a good home to offer his wife and would make her happy in it.
She knew no more about him--his family, his fortune, his former life,
his antecedents--than she knew of the man in the moon. Major Smith
perhaps did; he had been acquainted with him in the past. Nancy's
letter, though written the previous day, had been delivered by the
afternoon post. As soon as she could get dinner over, Lavinia went to
Major Smith's. He lived at the top of the Rue Lambeau, a street turning
out of the Grande Place. He and his wife, their own dinner just removed,
were sitting together, the major indulging in a steaming glass of
schiedam and water, flavoured with a slice of lemon. He was a very jolly
little man, with rosy cheeks and a bald head. They welcomed Miss Lavinia
warmly. She, not quite as composed as usual, opened her business without
preamble; her sister Ann had married Captain Fennel, and she had come to
ask Major Smith what he knew of him.
"Not very much," answered the major.
There was something behind his tone, and Lavinia burst into tears.
Compassionating her distress, the major offered her a comforting glass,
similar to his own. Lavinia declined it.
"You will tell me what you know," she said; and he proceeded to do so.
Edwin Fennel, the son of Colonel Fennel, was stationed in India with
his regiment for several years. He got on well enough, but was not
much liked by his brother officers: they thought him unscrupulous and
deceitful. All at once, something very disagreeable occurred, which
obliged Captain Fennel to quit her Majesty's service. The affair was
hushed up, out of consideration to his family and his father's long term
of service. "In fact, I believe he was allowed to retire, instead of
being cashiered," added the major, "but I am not quite sure which it
was."
"What was it that occurred--that Captain Fennel did, to necessitate his
dismissal?" questioned Lavinia.
"I don't much like to mention it," said the major, shaking his head.
"It might get about, you see, Miss Preen, which would make it awkward
for him. I have no wish, or right either, to do the man a gratuitous
injury."
"I promise you it shall not get about through me," returned Lavinia; "my
sister's being his wife will be the best guarantee for that. You must
please tell me, Major Smith."
"Well, Fennel was suspected--detected, in short--of cheating at cards."
Lavinia drew a deep breath. "Do you know," she said presently, in an
undertone, "that when I first met the man I shrank from his face."
"Oh my! And it has such nice features!" put in Mrs. Smith, who was but
a silly little woman.
"There was something in its shifty look which spoke to me as a warning,"
continued Lavinia. "It did, indeed. All my life I have been able to read
faces, and my first instinct has rarely, if ever, deceived me. Each
time I have seen this man since, that instinct against him has become
stronger."
Major Smith took a sip at his schiedam. "I believe--between
ourselves--he is just a mauvais sujet," said he. "He has a brother who
is one, out and out; as I chance to know."
"What is Edwin Fennel's income, major?"
"I can't tell at all. I should not be surprised to hear that he has
none."
"How does he live then?" asked Lavinia, her heart going at a gallop.
"Don't know that either," said the major. "His father is dead now and
can't help him. A very respectable man, the old colonel, but always
poor."
"He cannot live upon air; he must have some means," debated Lavinia.
"Lives upon his wits, perhaps; some men do. He wanted to borrow ten
pounds from me a short time ago," added the major, taking another sip
at his tumbler; "but I told him I had no money to lend--which was a
fact. I have an idea that he got it out of Charley Palliser."
The more Lavinia Preen heard of this unhappy case, the worse it seemed
to be. Declining to stay for tea, as Mrs. Smith wished, she betook her
miserable steps home again, rather wishing that the sea would swallow up
Captain Fennel.
The next day she saw Charles Palliser. Pouncing upon him as he was
airing his long legs in the Grande Place, she put the question to him
in so determined a way that Charley had no chance against her. He
turned red.
"I don't know who can have set that about," said he. "But it's true,
Miss Preen. Fennel pressed me to lend him ten pounds for a month; and
I--well, I did it. I happened to have it in my pocket, you see, having
just cashed a remittance from my father."
"Has he repaid you, Mr. Charles?"
"Oh, the month's not quite up yet," cried Charley. "Please don't talk
of it, Miss Preen; he wouldn't like it, you know. How on earth it has
slipped out I can't imagine."
"No, I shall not talk of it," said Lavinia, as she wished him good-day
and walked onwards, wondering what sort of a home Captain Fennel meant
to provide for Ann.
Lavinia Preen's cup of sorrow was not yet full. A morning or two after
this she was seated at breakfast with the window open, when she saw the
postman come striding across the yard with a letter. It was from the
bride; a very short letter, and one that Miss Lavinia did not at once
understand. She read it again.
"MY DEAR LAVINIA,
"All being well, we shall be home to-morrow; that is, on the day you
receive this letter; reaching Sainteville by the last train in the
evening. Please get something nice and substantial for tea, Edwin
says, and please see that Flore has the bedroom in good order.
"Your affectionate sister,
"ANN FENNEL."
The thing that Miss Lavinia did, when comprehension came to her, was to
fly into a passion.
"Come home here--_he!_--is that what she means?" cried she. "Never. Have
that man in my house? Never, never."
"But what has mademoiselle received?" exclaimed Flore, appearing just
then with a boiled egg. "Is it bad news?"
"It is news that I will not put up with--will not tolerate," cried Miss
Lavinia. And, in the moment's dismay, she told the woman what it was.
"Tiens!" commented Flore, taking a common-sense view of matters:
"they must be coming just to show themselves to mademoiselle on their
marriage. Likely enough they will not stay more than a night or two,
while looking out for an apartment."
Lavinia did not believe it; but the very suggestion somewhat soothed
her. To receive that man even for a night or two, as Flore put it, would
be to her most repugnant, cruel pain, and she resolved not to do it.
Breakfast over, she carried the letter and her trouble to the Rue Pomme
Cuite.
"But I am afraid, Lavinia, you cannot refuse to receive them," spoke
Madame Carimon, after considering the problem.
"Not refuse to receive them!" echoed Lavinia. "Why do you say that?"
"Well," replied Mary Carimon uneasily, for she disliked to add to
trouble, "you see the house is as much Ann's as yours. It was taken
in your joint names. Ann has the right to return to it; and also, I
suppose"--more dubiously--"to introduce her husband into it."
"Is that French law?"
"I think so. I'll ask Jules when he comes home to dinner. Would it not
be English law also, Lavinia?"
Lavinia was feeling wretchedly uncomfortable. With all her plain
common-sense, this phase of the matter had not struck her.
"Mary," said she--and there stopped, for she was seized with a violent
shivering, which seemed difficult to be accounted for. "Mary, if that
man has to take up his abode in the house, I can never remain in it. I
would rather die."
"Look here, dear friend," whispered Mary: "life is full of trouble--as
Job tells us in the Holy Scriptures--none of us are exempt from it. It
attacks us all in turn. The only one thing we can do is to strive to
make the best of it, under God; to ask Him to help us. I am afraid
there is a severe cross before you, Lavinia; better _bear_ it than fight
against it."
"I will never bear _that_," retorted Lavinia, turning a deaf ear in her
anger. "You ought not to wish me to do so."
"And I would not if I saw anything better for you."
Madame Veuve Sauvage, sitting as usual at her front-window that same
morning, was surprised at receiving an early call from her tenant, Miss
Preen. Madame handed her into her best crimson velvet fauteuil, and they
began talking.
Not to much purpose, however; for neither very well understood what the
other said. Lavinia tried to explain the object of her visit, but found
her French was not equal to it. Madame called her maid, Mariette, and
sent her into the shop below to ask Monsieur Gustave to be good enough
to step up.
Lavinia had gone to beg of them to cancel the agreement for the little
house, so far as her sister was concerned, and to place it in her name
only.
Monsieur Gustave, when he had mastered the request, politely answered
that such a thing was not practicable; Miss Ann's name could not be
struck out of the lease without her consent, or, as he expressed it,
breaking the bail. His mother and himself had every disposition to
oblige Miss Preen in any way, as indeed she must know, but they had no
power to act against the law.
So poor Miss Lavinia went into her home wringing her hands in despair.
She was perfectly helpless.