The Greatest Works of Sheridan Le Fanu (65+ Novels & Short Stories in One Edition). Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

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СКАЧАТЬ see Lady Knollys for a very few minutes?”

      “Cruel cheaile! you know I have a pain of the ear which makes me ‘orribly suffer at this moment, and you demand me whether I will not converse with strangers. I did not think you would be so unkain, Maud; but it is impossible, you must see — quaite impossible. I never, you know, refuse us to take trouble when I am able — never — never.”

      And Madame shed some tears, which always came at call, and with her hand pressed to her ear, said very faintly,

      “Be so good to tell your friend how you see me, and how I suffer, and leave me, Maud, for I wish to lie down a little, since the pain will not allow me to remain longer.”

      So with a few words of comfort which could not well be refused, but I dare say betraying my suspicion that more was made of her sufferings than need be, I returned to the drawing-room.

      “Captain Oakley has been here, my dear, and fancying, I suppose that you had left us for the evening, has gone to the billiard-room, I think,” said Lady Knollys, as I entered.

      That, then, accounted for the rumble and smack of balls which I had heard as I passed the door.

      “I have been telling Maud how detestably she is got up.”

      “Very thoughtful of you, Monica!” said my father.

      “Yes, and really, Austin, it is quite clear you ought to marry; you want some one to take this girl out, and look after her, and who’s to do it? She’s a dowdy — don’t you see? Such a dust! and it is really such a pity; for she’s a very pretty creature, and a clever woman could make her quite charming.”

      My father took Cousin Monica’s sallies with the most wonderful good-humour. She had always, I fancy, been a privileged person, and my father, whom we all feared, received her jolly attacks, as I fancy the grim Front-de-Boeufs of old accepted the humours and personalities of their jesters.

      “Am I to accept this as an overture?” said my father to his voluble cousin.

      “Yes, you may, but not for myself, Austin — I’m not worthy. Do you remember little Kitty Wealdon that I wanted you to marry eight-and-twenty years ago, or more, with a hundred and twenty thousand pounds? Well, you know, she has got ever so much now, and she is really a most amiable old thing, and though you would not have her then, she has had her second husband since, I can tell you.”

      “I’m glad I was not the first,” said my father.

      “Well, they really say her wealth is absolutely immense. Her last husband, the Russian merchant, left her everything. She has not a human relation, and she is in the best set.”

      “You were always a match-maker, Monica,” said my father, stopping, and putting his hand kindly on hers. “But it won’t do. No, no, Monica; we must take care of little Maud some other way.”

      I was relieved. We women have all an instinctive dread of second marriages, and I think that no widower is quite above or below that danger; and I remember, whenever my father, which indeed was but seldom, made a visit to town or anywhere else, it was a saying of Mrs. Rusk —

      “I shan’t wonder, neither need you, my dear, if he brings home a young wife with him.”

      So my father, with a kind look at her, and a very tender one on me, went silently to the library, as he often did about that hour.

      I could not help resenting my Cousin Knollys’ officious recommendation of matrimony. Nothing I dreaded more than a stepmother. Good Mrs. Rusk and Mary Quince, in their several ways, used to enhance, by occasional anecdotes and frequent reflections, the terrors of such an intrusion. I suppose they did not wish a revolution and all its consequences at Knowl, and thought it no harm to excite my vigilance.

      But it was impossible long to be vexed with Cousin Monica.

      “You know, my dear, your father is an oddity,” she said. “I don’t mind him — I never did. You must not. Cracky, my dear, cracky — decidedly cracky!”

      And she tapped the corner of her forehead, with a look so sly and comical, that I think I should have laughed, if the sentiment had not been so awfully irreverent.

      “Well, dear,how is our friend the milliner?”

      “Madame is suffering so much from pain in her ear, that she says it would be quite impossible to have the honour ——”

      “Honour — fiddle! I want to see what the woman’s like. Pain in her ear, you say? Poor thing! Well, dear, I think I can cure that in five minutes. I have it myself, now and then. Come to my room, and we’ll get the bottles.”

      So she lighted her candle in the lobby, and with a light and agile step she scaled the stairs, I following; and having found the remedies, we approached Madame’s room together.

      I think, while we were still at the end of the gallery, Madame heard and divined our approach, for her door suddenly shut, and there was a fumbling at the handle. But the bolt was out of order.

      Lady Knollys tapped at the door, saying —“we’ll come in, please, and see you. I’ve some remedies, which I’m sure will do you good.”

      There was no answer; so she opened the door, and we both entered. Madame had rolled herself in the blue coverlet, and was lying on the bed, with her face buried in the pillow, and enveloped in the covering.

      “Perhaps she’s asleep?” said Lady Knollys, getting round to the side of the bed, and stooping over her.

      Madame lay still as a mouse. Cousin Monica set down her two little vials on the table, and, stooping again over the bed, began very gently with her fingers to lift the coverlet that covered her face. Madame uttered a slumbering moan, and turned more upon her face, clasping the coverlet faster about her.

      “Madame, it is Maud and Lady Knollys. We have come to relieve your ear. Pray let me see it. She can’t be asleep, she’s holding the clothes so fast. Do, pray, allow me to see it.”

      Chapter 11.

       Lady Knollys Sees the Features

       Table of Contents

      PERHAPS, IF MADAME had murmured, “It is quite well — pray permit me to sleep,” she would have escaped an awkwardness. But having adopted the rôle of the exhausted slumberer, she could not consistently speak at the moment; neither would it do by main force, to hold the coverlet about her face: and so her presence of mind forsook her, and Cousin Monica drew it back, and hardly beheld the profile of the sufferer, when her good-humoured face was lined and shadowed with a dark curiosity and a surprise by no means pleasant; and she stood erect beside the bed, with her mouth firmly shut and drawn down at the corners, in a sort of recoil and perturbation, looking down upon the patient.

      “So that’s Madame de la Rougierre?” at length exclaimed Lady Knollys, with a very stately disdain. I think I never saw anyone look more shocked.

      Madame sat up, very flushed. No wonder, for she had been wrapped so close in the coverlet. She did not look quite at Lady Knollys, but straight before her, rather downward, and very luridly.

      I СКАЧАТЬ