Sainteville felt surprised and sorry to hear that Miss Preen was going
to leave it to its own devices, for the town had grown to like her.
Lavinia did not herself talk about going, but the news somehow got
wind. People wondered why she went. Matters, as connected with the
financial department of the Petite Maison Rouge, were known but
imperfectly--to most people not known at all; so that reason was not
thought of. It was quite understood that Ann Preen's stolen marriage,
capped by the bringing home of her husband to the Petite Maison Rouge,
had been a sharp blow to Miss Preen: perhaps, said Sainteville now, she
had tried living with them and found it did not answer. Or perhaps she
was only going away for a change, and would return after a while.
Passion week passed, and Easter week came in, and Lavinia made her
arrangements for the succeeding one. On the Tuesday in that next week,
all being well, she would quit Sainteville. Her preparations were
made; her larger box was already packed and corded. Nancy, of shallow
temperament and elastic spirits, seemed quite to have recovered from the
sting of the proposed parting; she helped Lavinia to put up her laces
and other little fine things, prattling all the time. Captain Fennel
maintained his suavity. Beyond the words he had spoken--as to how she
expected the income to keep two if it would not keep one--he had
said nothing. It might be that he hardly yet believed Lavinia would
positively go.
But she was going. At first only to Boulogne-sur-Mer. Monsieur
Jules Carimon had a cousin, Madame Degravier, who kept a superior
boarding-house there, much patronized by the English; he had written
to her to introduce Miss Preen, and to intimate that it would oblige
him if the terms were made très facile. Madame had written back to
Lavinia most satisfactorily, and, so far, that was arranged.
Once at Boulogne in peace and quietness, Lavinia would have leisure to
decide upon her future plans. She hoped to pay a visit to Buttermead in
the summer-time, for she had begun to yearn for a sight of the old place
and its people. After that--well, she should see. If things went on
pleasantly at Sainteville--that is, if Captain Fennel and Nancy were
still in the Petite Maison Rouge, and he was enabled to find means to
continue in it--then, perhaps, she might return to the town. Not to make
one of the household--never again that; but she might find a little
pied-à-terre in some other home.
Meanwhile, Lavinia heard no more of the procès, and she wondered how the
captain was meeting it. During the Easter week she made her farewell
calls. That week she was not very much at home; one or other of her old
acquaintances wanted her. Major and Mrs. Smith had her to spend a day
with them; the Miss Bosanquets invited her also; and so on.
One call, involving also private business, she made upon old Madame
Sauvage, Mary Carimon accompanying her. Monsieur Gustave was called up
to the salon to assist at the conference. Lavinia partly explained her
position to them in strict confidence, and the motive, as touching
pecuniary affairs, which was taking her away: she said nothing of that
other and greater motive, her superstitious fear.
"I have come to speak of the rent," she said to Monsieur Gustave, and
Mary Carimon repeated the words in French to old Madame Sauvage. "You
must in future look to Captain Fennel for it; you must make him pay it
if possible. At the same time, I admit my own responsibility," added
Lavinia, "and if it be found totally impracticable to get it from
Captain Fennel or my sister, I shall pay it to you. This must, of
course, be kept strictly between ourselves, Monsieur Gustave; you and
madame understand that. If Captain Fennel gained any intimation of it,
he would take care not to pay it."
Monsieur Gustave and madame his mother assured her that they fully
understood, and that she might rely upon their honour. They were grieved
to lose so excellent a tenant and neighbour as Miss Preen, and wished
circumstances had been more kindly. One thing she might rest assured
of--that they should feel at least as mortified at having to apply to
her for the rent as she herself would be, and they would not leave a
stone unturned to extract it from the hands of Captain Fennel.
"It has altogether been a most bitter trial to me," sighed Lavinia, as
she stood up to say farewell to madame.
The old lady understood, and the tears came into her compassionate eyes
as she held Lavinia's hands between her own. "Ay, for certain," she
replied in French. "She and her sons had said so privately to one
another ever since the abrupt coming home of the strange captain to the
petite maison à côté."
On Sunday, Lavinia, accompanied by Nancy and Captain Fennel, attended
morning service for the last time. She spoke to several acquaintances
coming out, wishing them good-bye, and was hastening to overtake her
sister, when she heard rapid steps behind her, and a voice speaking.
Turning, she saw Charley Palliser.
"Miss Preen," cried he, "my aunt wants you to come home and dine with
us. See, she is waiting for you. You could not come any one day last
week, you know."
"I was not able to come to you last week, Mr. Charles; I had so much to
do, and so many engagements," said Lavinia, as she walked back to Mrs.
Hardy, who stood smiling.
"But you will come to-day, dear Miss Preen," said old Mrs. Hardy, who
had caught the words. "We have a lovely fricandeau of veal, and----"
"Why, that is just our own dinner," interrupted Lavinia gaily. "I should
like to come to you, Mrs. Hardy, but I cannot. It is my last Sunday at
home, and I could not well go out and leave them."
They saw the force of the objection. Mrs. Hardy asked whether she should
be at church in the evening. Lavinia replied that she intended to be,
and they agreed to bid each other farewell then.
"You don't know what you've lost, Miss Preen," said Charley comically.
"There's a huge cream tart--lovely."
Captain Fennel was quite lively at the dinner-table. He related a rather
laughable story which had been told him by Major Smith, with whom he had
walked for ten minutes after church, and was otherwise gracious.
After dinner, while Flore was taking away the things, he left the room,
and came back with three glasses of liqueur, on a small waiter, handing
one to Lavinia, another to his wife, and keeping the third himself. It
was the yellow chartreuse; Captain Fennel kept a bottle of it and of one
or two other choice liqueurs in the little cupboard at the end of the
passage, and treated them to a glass sometimes.
"How delightful!" cried Nancy, who liked chartreuse and anything else
that was good.
They sat and sipped it, talking pleasantly together. The captain soon
finished his, and said he should take a stroll on the pier. It was a
bright day with a brisk wind, which seemed to be getting higher.
"The London boat ought to be in about four o'clock," he remarked.
"It's catching it sweetly, I know; passengers will look like ghosts.
Au revoir; don't get quarrelling." And thus, nodding to the two
ladies, he went out gaily.
Not much danger of their quarrelling. They turned their chairs to
the fire, and plunged into conversation, which chanced to turn upon
Buttermead. In calling up one reminiscence of the old place after
another, now Lavinia, now Nancy, the time passed on. Lavinia wore her
silver-grey silk dress that day, with some yellowish-looking lace
falling at the throat and wrists.
Flore came in to bring the tea-tray; she always put it on the table in
readiness on a Sunday afternoon. The water, she said, would be on the
boil in the kitchen by the time they wanted it. And then she went away
as usual for the rest of the day.
Not long afterwards, Lavinia, who was speaking, suddenly stopped in the
middle of a sentence. She started up in her chair, fell back again, and
clasped her hands below her chest with a great cry.
"Oh, Nancy!--Nancy!"
Nancy dashed across the hearthrug. "What is it?" she exclaimed. "What is
it, Lavinia?"
Lavinia apparently could not say what it was. She seemed to be in the
greatest agony; her face had turned livid. Nancy was next door to an
imbecile in any emergency, and fairly wrung her hands in her distress.
"Oh, what can be the matter with me?" gasped Lavinia. "Nancy, I think I
am dying."
The next moment she had glided from the chair to the floor, and lay
there shrieking and writhing. Bursting away, Nancy ran round to the
next house, all closed to-day, rang wildly at the private door, and
when it was opened by Mariette, rushed upstairs to madame's salon.
Madame Veuve Sauvage, comprehending that something was amiss, without
understanding Nancy's frantic words, put a shawl on her shoulders to
hasten to the other house, ordering Mariette to follow her. Her sons
were out.
There lay Lavinia, in the greatest agony. Madame Sauvage sent Mariette
off for Monsieur Dupuis, and told her to fly. "Better bring Monsieur
Henri Dupuis, Mariette," she called after her: "he will get quicker over
the ground than his old father."
But Monsieur Henri Dupuis, as it turned out, was absent. He had left
that morning for Calais with his wife, to spend two days with her
friends who lived there, purposing to be back early on Tuesday morning.
Old Monsieur Dupuis came very quickly. He thought Mademoiselle Preen
must have inward inflammation, he said to Madame Sauvage, and inquired
what she had eaten for dinner. Nancy told him as well as she could
between her sobs and her broken speech.
A fricandeau of veal, potatoes, a cauliflower au gratin, and a
frangipane tart from the pastrycook's. No fruit or any other dessert.
They took a little Bordeaux wine with dinner, and a liqueur glass of
chartreuse afterwards.
All very wholesome, pronounced Monsieur Dupuis, with satisfaction; not
at all likely to disagree with mademoiselle. Possibly she had caught a
chill.
Mariette had run for Flore, who came in great consternation. Between
them all they got Lavinia upstairs, undressed her and laid her in bed,
applying hot flannels to the pain--and Monsieur Dupuis administered in
a wine-glass of water every quarter-of-an-hour some drops from a glass
phial which he had brought in his pocket.
It was close upon half-past five when Captain Fennel came in. He
expressed much surprise and concern, saying, like the doctor, that she
must have eaten something which had disagreed with her. The doctor
avowed that he could not otherwise account for the seizure; he did not
altogether think it was produced by a chill; and he spoke again of the
dinner. Captain Fennel observed that as to the dinner they had all three
partaken of it, one the same as another; he did not see why it should
affect his sister-in-law and not himself or his wife. This reasoning was
evident, admitted Monsieur Dupuis; but Miss Preen had touched nothing
since her breakfast, except at dinner. In point of fact, he felt very
much at a loss, he did not scruple to add; but the more acute symptoms
were showing a slight improvement, he was thankful to perceive, and he
trusted to bring her round.
As he did. In a few hours the pain had so far abated, or yielded to
remedies, that poor Lavinia, worn out, dropped into a comfortable sleep.
Monsieur Dupuis was round again early in the morning, and found her
recovered, though still feeling tired and very weak. He advised her
to lie in bed until the afternoon; not to get up then unless she felt
inclined; and he charged her to take chiefly milk food all the day--no
solids whatever.
Lavinia slept again all the morning, and awoke very much refreshed. In
the afternoon she felt quite equal to getting up, and did so, dressing
herself in the grey silk she had worn the previous day, because it was
nearest at hand. She then penned a line to Madame Degravier, saying she
was unable to travel to Boulogne on the morrow, as had been fixed, but
hoped to be there on Wednesday, or, at the latest, Thursday.
Captain Fennel, who generally took possession of the easiest chair in
the salon, and the warmest place, resigned it to Lavinia the instant she
appeared downstairs. He shook her by the hand, said how glad he was that
she had recovered from her indisposition, and installed her in the chair
with a cushion at her back and a rug over her knees. All she had to
dread now, he thought, was cold; she must guard against that. Lavinia
replied that she could not in the least imagine what had been the matter
with her; she had never had a similar attack before, and had never been
in such dreadful pain.
Presently Mary Carimon came in, having heard of the affair from
Mariette, whom she had met in the fish-market during the morning. All
danger was over, Mariette said, and mademoiselle was then sleeping
quietly: so Madame Carimon, not to disturb her, put off calling until
the afternoon. Captain Fennel sat talking with her a few minutes, and
then went out. For some cause or other he never seemed to be quite at
ease in the presence of Madame Carimon.
"I know what it must have been," cried Mary Carimon, coming to one of
her rapid conclusions after listening to the description of the illness.
"Misled by the sunny spring days last week, you went and left off some
of your warm underclothing, Lavinia, and so caught cold."
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Nancy, who had curled herself up on the sofa
like a ball, not having yet recovered from her fatigue and fright.
"Leave off one's warm things the beginning of April! I never heard of
such imprudence! How came you to do it, Lavinia?"
"I did not do it," said Lavinia quietly. "I have not left off anything.
Should I be so silly as to do that with a journey before me?"
"Then what caused the attack?" debated Madame Carimon. "Something you
had eaten?"
Lavinia shook her head helplessly. "It could hardly have been that,
Mary. I took nothing whatever that Nancy and Captain Fennel did not
take. I wish I did know--that I might guard, if possible, against a
similar attack in future. The pain seized me all in a moment. I thought
I was dying."
"It sounds odd," said Madame Carimon. "Monsieur Dupuis does not know
either, it seems. That's why I thought you might have been leaving off
your things, and did not like to tell him."
"I conclude that it must have been one of those mysterious attacks of
sudden illness to which we are all liable, but for which no one can
account," sighed Lavinia. "I hope I shall never have it again. This
experience has been enough for a lifetime."
Mary Carimon warmly echoed the hope as she rose to take her departure.
She advised Lavinia to go to bed early, and promised to come again in
the morning.
While Captain Fennel and Nancy dined, Flore made her mistress some tea,
and brought in with it some thin bread-and-butter. Lavinia felt all the
better for the refreshment, laughingly remarking that by the morning
she was sure she should be as hungry as a hunter. She sat chatting, and
sometimes dozing between whiles, until about a quarter to nine o'clock,
when she said she would go to bed.
Nancy went to the kitchen to make her a cup of arrowroot. Lavinia then
wished Captain Fennel good-night, and went upstairs. Flore had left as
usual, after washing up the dinner-things.
"Lavinia, shall I---- Oh, she has gone on," broke off Nancy, who had
come in with the breakfast-cup of arrowroot in her hand. "Edwin, do you
think I may venture to put a little brandy into this?"
Captain Fennel sat reading with his face to the fire and the lamp at his
elbow. He turned round.
"Brandy?" said he. "I'm sure I don't know. If that pain meant
inflammation, brandy might do harm. Ask Lavinia; she had better decide
for herself. No, no; leave the arrowroot on the table here," he hastily
cried, as Nancy was going out of the room with the cup. "Tell Lavinia
to come down, and we'll discuss the matter with her. Of course a little
brandy would do her an immense deal of good, if she might take it with
safety."
Nancy did as she was told. Leaving the cup and saucer on the table, she
went up to her sister. In a minute or two she was back again.
"Lavinia won't come down again, Edwin; she is already half-undressed.
She thinks she had better be on the safe side, and not have the brandy."
"All right," replied the captain, who was sitting as before, intent on
his book. Nancy took the cup upstairs.
She helped her sister into bed, and then gave her the arrowroot,
inquiring whether she had made it well.
"Quite well, only it was rather sweet," answered Lavinia.
"Sweet!" echoed Nancy, in reply. "Why, I hardly put any sugar at all
into it; I remembered that you don't like it."
Lavinia finished the cupful. Nancy tucked her up, and gave her a
good-night kiss. "Pleasant dreams, Lavinia dear," she called back, as
she was shutting the door.
"Thank you, Nancy; but I hope I shall sleep to-night without dreaming,"
answered Lavinia.
As Nancy went downstairs she turned into the kitchen for her own
arrowroot, which she had left all that time in the saucepan. Being fond
of it, she had made enough for herself as well as for Lavinia.