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FANNY LAMBERT
A Novel
BY
HENRY DE VERE STACPOOLE
AUTHOR OF "THE CRIMSON AZALEAS"
"THE BLUE LAGOON" ETC., ETC.
[Illustration: Decoration]
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
18 East 17th Street, New York
T. FISHER UNWIN, LONDON
CONTENTS
PART I
CHAP. PAGE
I. MR LEAVESLEY 1
II. A LOST TYPE 4
III. A COUNCIL OF THREE 12
IV. HANCOCK & HANCOCK 26
V. OMENS 31
VI. LAMBERT _v._ BEVAN 36
VII. THE BEVAN TEMPER 41
VIII. AT "THE LAURELS" 48
IX. "WHAT TALES ARE THESE?" 62
X. ASPARAGUS AND CATS 76
PART II
I. A REVELATION 86
II. THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE 113
III. TRIBULATIONS OF AN AUNT 125
IV. THE DAISY CHAIN 131
PART III
I. AN ASSIGNATION 141
II. THE EMOTIONS OF MR BRIDGEWATER 150
III. AN OLD MAN'S OUTING 159
IV. A MEETING 169
V. THE ADVENTURES OF BRIDGEWATER 171
VI. A CONFESSION 176
VII. IN GORDON SQUARE 185
PART IV
I. "THE ROOST" 194
II. MISS MORGAN 207
III. A CURE FOR BLINDNESS 223
IV. TIC-DOULOUREUX 235
V. THE AMBASSADOR 245
VI. A SURPRISE VISIT 251
VII. THE UNEXPLAINED 263
VIII. RETURN OF THE AMBASSADOR 269
PART V
I. GOUT 274
II. THE RESULT 283
III. THE RESULT (_continued_) 299
IV. "JOURNEY'S END" 301
FANNY LAMBERT
_PART I_
CHAPTER I
MR LEAVESLEY
"You may take away the things, Belinda," said Mr Leavesley, lighting his
pipe and taking his seat at the easel. "Nobody called this morning, I
suppose?"
"Only the Capting, sir," replied Belinda, piling the tray. "He called at
seven to borry your umbrella."
"Did you give it him?"
"No, sir, Mr Verneede's got it; you lent it to him the night before
last, and he hasn't brought it back."
"Ah, so I did," said Mr Leavesley, squeezing Naples yellow from an
utterly exhausted looking tube. "So I did, so I did; that's the
fifteenth umbrella or so that Verneede has annexed of mine: what does he
_do_ with them, do you think, Belinda?"
"I'm sure _I_ don't know, sir," replied the maid-of-all-work, looking
round the studio as if in search of inspiration, "unless he spouts
them."
"That will do, Belinda," said the owner of the lost umbrellas, turning
to his work, and the servant-maid departed.
It was a large, pleasant studio, furnished with very little affectation,
and its owner was a slight, pleasant-faced youth, happy-go-lucky
looking, with a glitter in his grey eyes suggesting a touch of genius or
insanity in their owner.
He was an orphan blessed with a small competency. His income, to use his
own formula, consisted of a hundred a year and an uncle. During the
first four months or so of the year he spent the hundred pounds, during
the rest of the year he squandered his uncle; that is to say he would
have squandered him only for the fact that Mr James Hancock, of the firm
of Hancock & Hancock, solicitors, was a person most difficult to
"negotiate."
Art, however, was looking up. He had sold several pictures lately. The
morning mists on the road to success were clearing away, leaving to the
view in a prospect distant tremulous and golden the mysterious city of
attainment.
He would have whistled as he worked only that he was smoking.
Through the open windows came the pulse-like sound of the omnibuses in
the King's Road, the sleigh bells of the hansoms, the rattle of the
coster's barrow, and voices.
As he painted, the sounds outside brought before him the vision of the
King's Road, Chelsea, where flaming June was also at work with her
golden brush and palette of violet colours.
He saw in imagination the scarlet pyramids of strawberries in the shops.
The blazing barrow of flowers all a-growing and a-blowing, the late-June
morning crowd, and through the crowd wending its way the figure of a
girl.
He was in love.
In the breast-pocket of his coat (on the heart side) lay a letter he had
received by the early morning post. The handwriting was large and
generous and careless, for no man living could tell the "m's" from the
"w's," or the "t's" from the "l's." It ran somewhat to this effect:
"THE LAURELS, HIGHGATE.
"Father is worrying dreadfully, and I want your advice. I think I
will be in the King's Road to-morrow, and will call on you. Excuse
this scrawl.--In wild haste,
"FANNY LAMBERT.
"How's the picture?"
Occasionally as he painted he touched his coat where the letter lay, as
if to make sure of its presence.
Suddenly he ceased working. There was a step on the stairs, a knock at
the door. Could it be?----