IX.

Matters went on to the spring. There were no outward differences in the

Petite Maison Rouge, but it was full of an undercurrent of discomfort.

At least for Lavinia. Captain Fennel was simply to her an incubus; and

now and again petty accounts of his would be brought to the door by

tradespeople who wanted them settled. As to keeping up the legitimate

payments, she could not do it.

March was drawing to an end, when a surprise came to them. Lavinia

received a letter from Paris, written by Colonel Selby. He had been

there for two days on business, he said, and purposed returning viâ

Sainteville, to take a passing glimpse at herself and her sister. He

hoped to be down that afternoon by the three-o'clock train, and he asked

them to meet him at the Hôtel des Princes afterwards, and to stay and

dine with him. He proposed crossing to London by the night boat.

Lavinia read the letter aloud. Nancy went into ecstasies, for a wonder;

she had been curiously subdued in manner lately. Edwin Fennel made no

remark, but his pale face wore a look of thought.

During the morning he betook himself to the Rue Lothaire to call upon

Mr. Griffin; and he persuaded that easy-natured old gentleman to take

advantage of the sunny day and make an excursion en voiture to the

nearest town, a place called Pontipette. Of course the captain went

also, as his companion.

Colonel Selby arrived at three. Lavinia and Nancy met him at the

station, and went with him in the omnibus to the hotel. They then showed

him about Sainteville, to which he was a stranger, took him to see their

domicile, the little red house (which he did not seem to admire), and

thence to Madame Carimon's. In the Buttermead days, the colonel and Mary

Featherston had been great friends. He invited her and her husband to

join them at the table d'hôte dinner at five o'clock.

Lavinia and Nancy went home again to change their dresses for it. Nancy

put on a pretty light green silk, which had been recently modernized.

Mrs. Selby had kept up an extensive wardrobe, and had left it between

the two sisters.

"You should wear your gold chain and locket," remarked Lavinia, who

always took pride in her sister's appearance. "It will look very nice

upon that dress."

She alluded to a short, thick chain of gold, the gold locket attached to

it being set round with pearls, Nancy's best ornament; nay, the only one

she had of any value; it was the one she had worn at Miss Bosanquet's

celebrated party. Nancy made no answer. She was turning red and white.

"What's the matter?" cried Lavinia.

The matter was, that Mr. Edwin Fennel had obtained possession of the

chain and locket more than a month ago. Silly Nancy confessed with

trembling lips that she feared he had pledged it.

Or sold it, thought Lavinia. She felt terribly vexed and indignant. "I

suppose, Ann, it will end in his grasping everything," she said, "and

starving us out of house and home: _myself_, at any rate."

"He expects money from his brother James, and then he will get it back

for me," twittered Nancy.

Monsieur Jules Carimon was not able to come to the table d'hôte; his

duties that night would detain him at the college until seven o'clock.

It happened so on occasion. Colonel Selby sat at one end of their party,

Lavinia at the other; Mary Carimon and Nancy between them. A gentleman

was on the other side of Lavinia whom she did not particularly notice;

and, upon his asking the waiter for something, his voice seemed to

strike upon her memory. Turning, she saw that it was the tall Englishman

they had seen on the pier some months before in the shepherd's plaid,

the lawyer named Lockett. He recognized her face at the same moment, and

they entered into conversation.

"Are you making any stay at Sainteville?" she inquired.

"For a few days. I must be back in London on Monday morning."

Colonel Selby's attention was attracted to the speakers. "What, is it

you, Lockett?" he exclaimed.

Mr. Lockett bent forward to look beyond Lavinia and Madame Carimon.

"Why, colonel, are you here?" he cried. So it was evident that they knew

one another.

But you can't talk very much across people at a table d'hôte; and

Lavinia and Mr. Lockett were, so to say, left together again. She put a

question to him, dropping her voice to a whisper.

"Did you ever find that person you were looking for?"

"The person I was looking for?" repeated the lawyer, not remembering.

"What person was that?"

"The one you spoke of on the pier that day--a Mr. Dangerfield."

"Oh, ay; but I was not looking for him myself. No; I believe he is not

dropped upon yet. He is keeping quiet, I expect."

"Is he still being looked for?"

"Little doubt of that. My friend here, on my left, could tell you more

about him than I can, if you want to know."

"No, thank you," said Lavinia hastily, in a sort of fear. And she then

observed that next to Mr. Lockett another Englishman was sitting, who

looked very much like a lawyer also.

After dinner Colonel Selby took his guests, the three ladies, into the

little salon, which opened to Madame Podevin's bureau; for it was she

who, French fashion, kept the bureau and all its accounts, not her

husband. Whilst the coffee which the colonel ordered was preparing, he

took from his pocket-book two cheques, and gave one each to Lavinia and

Mrs. Fennel. It was their quarterly income, due about a week hence.

"I thought I might as well give it you now, as I am here, and save the

trouble of sending," he remarked. "You can write me a receipt for it;

here's pen, ink and paper."

Each wrote her receipt, and gave it him. Nancy held the cheque in her

hand, looking at her sister in a vacillating manner. "I suppose I ought

to give it you, Lavinia," she said. "Must I do so?"

"What do you think about it yourself?" coldly rejoined Lavinia.

"He was so very angry with me the last time," sighed Nancy, still

withholding the cheque. "He said I ought to keep possession of my own,

and he ordered me to do so in future."

"That he may have the pleasure of spending it," said Mary Carimon in a

sharp tone, though she laughed at the same time. "Lavinia has to pay for

the bread-and-cheese that you and he eat, Nancy; how can she do that

unless she receives your money?"

"Yes, I know; it is very difficult," said poor Nancy. "Take the cheque,

Lavinia; I shall tell him that you and Mary Carimon both said I must

give it up."

"Oh, tell him I said so, and welcome," spoke Madame Carimon. "I will

tell him so myself, if you like."

As Colonel Selby returned to the room--he had been seeing to his

luggage--the coffee was brought in, and close upon it came Monsieur

Carimon.

The boat for London was leaving early that night--eight o'clock; they

all went down to it to see William Selby off. It was a calm night, warm

for the time of year, the moon beautifully bright. After the boat's

departure, Lavinia and Ann went home, and found Captain Fennel there. He

had just got in, he said, and wanted some supper.

Whilst he was taking it, his wife told him of Mr. Lockett's having

sat by them at the table d'hôte, and that he and Colonel Selby were

acquainted with one another. Captain Fennel drew a grim face at the

information, and asked whether the lawyer had also "cleared out" for

London.

"I don't think so; I did not see him go on board," said Nancy. "Lavinia

knows; she was talking with Mr. Lockett all dinner-time."

Captain Fennel turned his impassive face to Lavinia, as if demanding an

answer to his question.

"Mr. Lockett intends to remain here until Sunday, I fancy; he said he

had to be in London on Monday morning. He has some friend with him here.

I inquired whether they had found the Mr. Dangerfield he spoke of last

autumn," added Lavinia slowly and distinctly. "'Not yet,' he answered,

'but he is still being looked for.'"

Whether Lavinia said this with a little spice of malice, or whether she

really meant to warn him, she best knew. Captain Fennel finished his

supper in silence.

"I presume the colonel did not hand you over your quarter's money?" he

next said to his wife in a mocking sort of way. "It is not due for a

week yet; he is not one to pay beforehand."

Upon which Nancy began to tremble and looked imploringly at her sister,

who was putting the plates together upon the tray. After Flore went home

they had to wait upon themselves.

"Colonel Selby did hand us the money," said Lavinia. "I hold both

cheques for it."

Well, there ensued a mild disturbance; what schoolboys might call a

genteel row. Mr. Edwin Fennel insisted upon his wife's cheque being

given to him. Lavinia decisively refused. She went into a bit of a

temper, and told him some home truths. He said he had a right to hold

his wife's money, and should appeal to the law on the morrow to enforce

it. He might do that, Lavinia retorted; no French law would make her

give it up. Nancy began to cry.

Probably he knew his threats were futile. Instead of appealing to the

law on the morrow, he went off by an early train, carrying Nancy with

him. Lavinia's private opinion was that he thought it safer to take her,

though it did increase the expense, than to leave her; she might get

talking with Mr. Lockett. Ann's eyes were red, as if she had spent the

night in crying.

"Has he _beaten_ you?" Lavinia inquired, snatching the opportunity of

a private moment.

"Oh, Lavinia, don't, don't! I shall _never_ dare to let you have the

cheque again," she wailed.

"Where is it that you are going?"

"He has not told me," Nancy whispered back again. "To Calais, I think,

or else up to Lille. We are to be away all the week."

"Until Mr. Lockett and his friend are gone," thought Lavinia. "Nancy,

how can he find money for it?"

"He has some napoleons in his pocket--borrowed yesterday, I think, from

old Griffin."

Lavinia understood. Old Griffin, as Nancy styled him, had been careless

of his money since his very slight attack of paralysis; he would freely

lend to any one who asked him. She had not the slightest doubt that

Captain Fennel had borrowed of him--and not for the first time.

It was on Wednesday morning that they went away, and for the rest of

the week Lavinia was at peace. She changed the cheques at the bank as

before, and paid the outstanding debts. But it left her so little to go

on with, that she really knew not how she should get through the months

until midsummer.

On Friday two of the Miss Bosanquets called. Hearing she was alone, they

came to ask her to dine with them in the evening. Lavinia did so. But

upon returning home at night, the old horror of going into the house

came on again. Lavinia was in despair; she had hoped it had passed away

for good.

On Saturday morning at market she met Madame Carimon, who invited her

for the following day, Sunday. Lavinia hesitated. Glad enough indeed

she was at the prospect of being taken out of her solitary home for

a happy day at Mary Carimon's; but she shrank from again risking the

dreadful feeling which would be sure to attack her when going into the

house at night.

"You must come, Lavinia," cheerily urged Madame Carimon. "I have invited

the English teacher at Madame Deauville's school; she has no friends

here, poor thing."

"Well, I will come, Mary; thank you," said Lavinia slowly.

"To be sure you will. Why do you hesitate at all?"

Lavinia could not say why in the midst of the jostling market-place;

perhaps would not had they been alone. "For one thing, they may be

coming home before to-morrow," observed Lavinia, alluding to Mr. and

Mrs. Fennel.

"Let them come. You are not obliged to stay at home with them," laughed

Mary.

_From the Diary of Miss Preen._

_Monday morning._--Well, it is over. The horror of last night is over,

and I have not died of it. That will be considered a strong expression,

should any eye save my own see this diary: but I truly believe the

horror would kill me if I were subjected many more times to it.

I went to Mary Carimon's after our service was over in the morning,

and we had a pleasant day there. The more I see of Monsieur Jules the

more I esteem and respect him. He is so genuine, so good at heart, so

simple in manner. Miss Perry is very agreeable; not so young as I

had thought--thirty last birthday, she says. Her English is good and

refined, and that is not always the case with the English teachers who

come over to France--the French ladies who engage them cannot judge of

our accent.

Miss Perry and I left together a little before ten. She wished me

good-night in the Rue Tessin, Madame Deauville's house lying one way,

mine another. The horror began to come over me as I crossed the Place

Ronde, which had never happened before. Stay; not the horror itself, but

the dread of it. An impulse actually crossed me to ring at Madame

Sauvage's, and ask Mariette to accompany me up the entry, and stand at

my open door whilst I went in to light the candle. But I could see no

light in the house, not even in madame's salon, and supposed she and

Mariette might be gone to bed. They are early people on Sundays, and the

two young men have their latch-keys.

I will try to overcome it this time, I bravely said to myself, and

not allow the fear to keep me halting outside the door as it has done

before. So I took out my latch-key, put it straight into the door,

opened it, went in, and closed it again. Before I had well reached the

top of the passage and felt for the match-box on the slab, I was in a

paroxysm of horror. Something, like an icy wind coming up the passage,

seemed to flutter the candle as I lighted it. Can I have left the door

open? I thought, and turned to look. There stood Edwin Fennel. He stood

just inside the door, which appeared to be shut, and he was looking

straight at me with a threatening, malignant expression on his pale

face.

"Oh! have you come home to-night?" I exclaimed aloud. For I really

thought it was so.

The candle continued to flicker quickly as if it meant to go out,

causing me to glance at it. When I looked up again Mr. Fennel was gone.

_It was not himself who had been there; it was only an illusion._

Exactly as he had seemed to appear to me the night before he and Nancy

returned from London in December, so he had appeared again, his back to

the door, and the evil menace on his countenance. Did the appearance

come to me as a warning? or was the thing nothing but a delusion of my

own optic nerves?

I dragged my shaking limbs upstairs, on the verge of screaming at each

step with the fear of what might be behind me, and undressed and went to

bed. For nearly the whole night I could not sleep, and when I did get to

sleep in the morning I was tormented by a distressing dream. All, all as

it had been that other night from three to four months ago.

A confused dream, no method in it. Several people were about--Nancy for

one; I saw her fair curls. We all seemed to be in grievous discomfort

and distress; whilst I, in worse fear than this world can know, was ever

striving to hide myself from Edwin Fennel, to escape some dreadful fate

which he held in store for me. And I knew I should not escape it.