On the Monday morning Flore found her mistress in so sick and suffering
and strange a state, that she sent for Madame Carimon. In vain Mary
Carimon, after hearing Nancy's tale, strove to convince her that what
she saw was fancy, the effect of diseased nerves. Nancy was more
obstinate than a mule.
"What I saw was Lavinia," she shivered. "Lavinia's apparition. No good
to tell me it was not; I have seen it now twice. It was as clear and
evident to me, both times, as ever she herself was in life. That's what
Edwin used to see; I know it now; and he became unable to bear the
house. I seem to read it all as in a book, Mary. He got his brother to
send for him, and he is staying away because he dreads to come back
again. But you know I cannot stay here alone now."
Madame Carimon wrote off at once to Captain Fennel, Nancy supplying
the address. She told him that his wife was ill; in a nervous state;
fancying she saw Lavinia in the house. Such a report, she added, should
if possible be kept from spreading to the town, and therefore she must
advise him to return without delay.
The letter brought back Captain Fennel, Flore having meanwhile
remained entirely at the Petite Maison Rouge. Perhaps the captain did
not in secret like that little remark of its being well to keep it
from the public; he may have considered it suggestive, coming from
Mary Carimon. He believed she read him pretty correctly, and he hated
her accordingly. Any way, he deemed it well to be on the spot. Left
to herself, there was no telling what ridiculous things Nancy might be
saying or fancying.
Edwin Fennel did not return alone. His brother's wife was with him. Mrs.
James, they called her, James being the brother's Christian name. Mrs.
James was not a lady in herself or in manner; but she was lively and
very good-natured, and these qualities were what the Petite Maison Rouge
wanted in it just now; and perhaps that was Captain Fennel's motive
in bringing her. Nancy was delighted. She almost forgot her fears
and fancies. Flore was agreeable also, for she was now at liberty to
return to ordinary arrangements. Thus there was a lull in the storm.
They walked out with Mrs. James on the pier, and took her to see the
different points of interest in the town; they even gave a little soirée
for her, and in return were invited to other houses.
One day, when the two ladies were gossiping together, Nancy, in the
openness of her heart, related to Mrs. James the particulars of
Lavinia's unexpected and rather mysterious death, and of her appearing
in the house again after it. Captain Fennel disturbed them in the midst
of the story. His wife was taking his name in vain at the moment of his
entrance, saying how scared _he_ had been at the apparition.
"Hold your peace, you foolish woman!" he thundered, looking as if
he meant to strike her. "Don't trouble Mrs. James's head with such
miserable rubbish as that."
Mrs. James did not appear to mind it. She burst into a hearty laugh. She
never had seen a ghost, she said, and was sure she never should; there
were no such things. But she should like to hear all about poor Miss
Preen's death.
"There was nothing else to hear," the captain growled. "She caught a
chill on the Sunday, coming out of the hot church after morning service.
It struck inwardly, bringing on inflammation, which the medical men
could not subdue."
"But you know, Edwin, the church never is hot, and you know the doctors
decided it was not a chill. Monsieur Podevin especially denied it,"
dissented Nancy, who possessed about as much insight as a goose, and a
little less tact.
"Then what did she die of?" questioned Mrs. James. "Was she poisoned?"
"Oh, how can you suggest so dreadful a thing!" shrieked Nancy.
"Poisoned! Who would be so wicked as to poison Lavinia? Every one loved
her."
Which again amused the listening lady. "You have a quick imagination,
Mrs. Edwin," she laughed. "I was thinking of mushrooms."
"And I of tinned meats and copper saucepans," supplemented Captain
Fennel. "However, there could be no suspicion even of that sort in
Lavinia's case, since she had touched nothing but what we all partook
of. She died of inflammation, Mrs. James."
"Little doubt of it," acquiesced Mrs. James. "A friend of mine went, not
twelve months ago, to a funeral at Brompton Cemetery; the ground was
damp, and she caught a chill. In four days she was dead."
"Women have no business at funerals," growled Edwin Fennel. "Why should
they parade their grief abroad? You see nothing of the kind in France."
"In truth I think you are not far wrong," said Mrs. James. "It is a
fashion which has sprung up of late. A few years ago it was as much
unknown with us as it is with the French."
"_They_ will be catching it up next, I suppose," retorted the captain,
as if the thing were a personal grievance to him.
"Little doubt of it," laughed Mrs. James.
After staying at Sainteville for a month, Mrs. James Fennel took her
departure for London. Captain Fennel proposed to escort her over; but
his wife went into so wild a state at the mere mention of it, that he
had to give it up.
"I dare not stay in the house by myself, Edwin," she shuddered. "I
should go to the Vice-Consul and to other influential people here, and
tell them of my misery--that I am afraid of seeing Lavinia."
And Captain Fennel believed she would be capable of doing it. So he
remained with her.
That the spectre of the dead-and-gone Lavinia did at times appear to
them, or else their fancies conjured up the vision, was all too certain.
Three times during the visit of Mrs. James the captain had been betrayed
into one of his fits of terror: no need to ask what had caused it.
After her departure the same thing took place. Nancy had not again seen
anything, but she knew he had.
"We shall not be able to stay in the house, Edwin," his wife said to him
one evening when they were sitting in the salon at dusk after Flore's
departure; nothing having led up to the remark.
"I fancy we should be as well out of it," replied he.
"Oh, Edwin, let us go! If we can! There will be all the rent to pay up
first."
"All the what?" said he.
"The rent," repeated Nancy; "up to the end of the term we took it for.
About three years longer, I think, Edwin. That would be sixty pounds."
"And where do you suppose the sixty pounds would come from?"
"I don't know. There's the impediment, you see," remarked Nancy blankly.
"We cannot leave without paying up."
"Unless we made a moonlight flitting of it, my dear."
"That I never will," she rejoined, with a firmness he could not mistake.
"You are only jesting, Edwin."
"It would be no jesting matter to pay up that claim, and others; for
there are others. Our better plan, Nancy, will be to go off by the
London boat some night, and not let any one know where we are until I
can come back to pay. You may see it is the only thing to be done, and
you must bring your mind to it."
"Never by me," said Nancy, strong in her innate rectitude. "As to hiding
ourselves anywhere, that can never be; I should not conceal my address
from Mary Carimon--I _could_ not conceal it from Colonel Selby."
Captain Fennel ground his teeth. "Suppose I say that this shall be, that
we will go, and order you to obey me? What then?"
"No, Edwin, I could not. I should go in to Monsieur Gustave Sauvage,
and say to him, 'We were thinking of running away, but I cannot do it;
please put me in prison until I can pay the debt.' And then----"
"Are you an idiot?" asked Captain Fennel, staring at her.
"And then, when I was in prison," went on Nancy, "I should write to tell
William Selby; and perhaps he would come over and release me. Please
don't talk in this kind of way again, Edwin. I should keep my word."
Mr. Edwin Fennel could not have felt more astounded had his wife then
and there turned into a dromedary before his eyes. She had hitherto been
tractable as a child. But he had never tried her in a thing that touched
her honour, and he saw that the card which he had intended to play was
lost.
Captain Fennel played another. He went away himself.
Making the best he could of the house and its haunted state (though day
by day saw him looking more and more like a walking skeleton) throughout
the greater part of June, for the summer had come in, he despatched
his wife to Pontipette one market day--Saturday--to remain there until
the following Wednesday. Old Mrs. Hardy had gone to the homely but
comfortable hotel at Pontipette for a change, and she wrote to invite
Nancy to stay a short time with her. Charles Palliser was in England.
Captain Fennel proceeded to London by that same Saturday night's boat,
armed with a letter from his wife to Colonel Selby, requesting the
colonel to pay over to her husband her quarterly instalment instead of
sending it to herself. Captain Fennel had bidden her do this; and Nancy,
of strict probity in regard to other people's money, could not resist
signing over her own.
"But you will be sure to bring it all back, won't you, Edwin? and to be
here by Wednesday, the day I return?" she said to him.
"Why, of course I shall, my dear."
"It will be a double portion now--thirty-five pounds."
"And a good thing, too; we shall want it," he returned.
"Indeed, yes; there's such a heap of things owing for," concluded Nancy.
Thus the captain went over to England in great glee, carrying with him
the order for the money. But he was reckoning without his host.
Upon presenting himself at the bank in the City on Monday morning, he
found Colonel Selby absent; not expected to return before the end of
that week, or the beginning of the next. This was a check for Captain
Fennel. He quite glared at the gentleman who thus informed him--Mr.
West, who sat in the colonel's room, and was his locum tenens for the
time being.
"Business is transacted all the same, I conclude?" said he snappishly.
"Why, certainly," replied Mr. West, marvelling at the absurdity of the
question. "What can I do for you?"
Captain Fennel produced his wife's letter, requesting that her quarter's
money should be paid over to him, and handed in her receipt for the
same. Mr. West read them both, the letter twice, and then looked direct
through his silver-rimmed spectacles at the applicant.
"I cannot do this," said he; "it is a private matter of Colonel
Selby's."
"It is not more private than any other payment you may have to make,"
retorted Captain Fennel.
"Pardon me, it is. This really does not concern the bank at all. I
cannot pay it without Colonel Selby's authority: he has neither given it
nor mentioned it to me. Another thing: the payment, as I gather from the
wording of Mrs. Ann Fennel's letter, is not yet due. Upon that score,
apart from any other, I should decline to pay it."
"It will be due in two or three days. Colonel Selby would not object to
forestall the time by that short period."
"That would, of course, be for the colonel's own consideration."
"I particularly wish to receive the money this morning."
Mr. West shook his head in answer. "If you will leave Mrs. Fennel's
letter and receipt in my charge, sir, I will place them before the
colonel as soon as he returns. That is all I can do. Or perhaps you
would prefer to retain the latter," he added, handing back the receipt
over the desk.
"Business men are the very devil to stick at straws," muttered Captain
Fennel under his breath. He saw it was no use trying to move the one
before him, and went out, saying he would call in a day or two.
Now it happened that Colonel Selby, who was only staying at Brighton for
a rest (for he had been very unwell of late), took a run up to town that
same Monday morning to see his medical attendant. His visit paid, he
went on to the bank, surprising Mr. West there about one o'clock. After
some conference upon business matters, Mr. West spoke of Captain
Fennel's visit, and handed over the letter he had left.
Colonel Selby drew in his lips as he read it. He did not like Mr. Edwin
Fennel; and he would most assuredly not pay Ann Fennel's money to him.
He returned the letter to Mr. West.
"Should the man come here again, West, tell him, as you did this
morning, that he can see me on my return--which will probably be on
this day week," said the colonel. "No need to say I have been up here
to-day."
And on the following day, Tuesday, Colonel Selby, being then at
Brighton, drew out a cheque for the quarter almost due and sent it by
post to Nancy at Sainteville.
Thus checkmated in regard to the money, Captain Fennel did not return
home at the time he promised, even if he had had any intention of doing
so. When Nancy returned to Sainteville on the Wednesday from Pontipette,
he was not there. The first thing she saw waiting for her on the table
was Colonel Selby's letter containing the cheque for five-and-thirty
pounds.
"How glad I am it has come to me so soon!" cried Nancy; "I can pay the
bills now. I suppose William Selby thinks it would not be legal to pay
it to Edwin."
The week went on. Each time a boat came in, Nancy was promenading the
port, expecting to see her husband land from it. On the Sunday morning
Nancy received a letter from him, in which he told her he was waiting
to see Colonel Selby, to get the money paid to him. Nancy wrote back
hastily, saying it had been received by herself, and that she had paid
it nearly all away in settling the bills. She begged him to come back
by the next boat. Flore was staying in the house altogether, but at an
inconvenience.
On the Monday evening Mrs. Fennel had another desperate fright. She
went to take tea with an elderly lady and her daughter, Mrs. and Miss
Lambert, bidding Flore to come for her at half-past nine o'clock.
Half-past nine came, but no Flore; ten o'clock came, and then Mrs.
Fennel set off alone, supposing Flore had misunderstood her and would
be found waiting for her at home. The moonlit streets were crowded with
promenaders returning from their summer evening walk upon the pier.
Nancy rang the bell; but it was not answered. She had her latch-key in
her pocket, but preferred to be admitted, and she rang again. No one
came. "Flore must have dropped asleep in the kitchen," she petulantly
thought, and drew out her key.
"Flore!" she called out, pushing the door back. "Flore, where are you?"
Flore apparently was nowhere, very much to the dismay of Mrs. Fennel.
She would have to go in alone, all down the dark passage, and wake her
up. Leaving the door wide open, she advanced in the dark with cautious
steps, the old terror full upon her.
The kitchen was dark also, so far as fire or candlelight went, but a
glimmer of moonlight shone in at the window. "Are you not here, Flore?"
shivered Nancy. But there was no response.
Groping for the match-box on the mantel-shelf over the stove, and not at
once finding it, Nancy suddenly took up an impression that some one was
standing in the misty rays of the moon. Gazing attentively, it seemed to
assume the shadowy form of Lavinia. And with a shuddering cry Nancy
Fennel fell down upon the brick floor of the kitchen.