Uncle Silas by J. Sheridan Le Fanu (ebook voice reader TXT) 📕

shoulder, and she knew me⁠—in fact, we knew one another⁠—and who do you think she was? Well⁠—you’ll not guess in a week, and I can’t wait so long; so I may as well tell you at once⁠—she was that horrid old Mademoiselle Blassemare whom you pointed out to me at Elverston; and I never forgot her face since⁠—nor she, it seems, mine, for she turned away very quickly, and when I next saw her, her veil was down.’ ”

“Did not you tell me, Maud, that you had lost your pearl cross while that dreadful Madame de la Rougierre was here?”

“Yes; but⁠—”

“I know; but what has she to do with Mademoiselle de Blassemare, you were going to say⁠—they are one and the same person.”

“Oh, I perceive,” answered I, with that dim sense of danger and dismay with which one hears suddenly of an enemy of whom one has lost sight for a time.

“I’ll write and tell Georgie to buy that cross. I wager my life it is yours,” said Lady Knollys, firmly.

The servants, indeed, made no secret of their opinion of Madame de la Rougierre, and frankly charged her with a long list of larcenies. Even Anne Wixted, who had enjoyed her barren favour while the gouvernante was here, hinted privately that she had bartered a missing piece of lace belonging to me with a gipsy pedlar, for French gloves and an Irish poplin.

“And so surely as I find it is yours, I’ll set the police in pursuit.”

“But you must not bring me into court,” said I, half amused and half alarmed.

“No occasion, my dear; Mary Quince and Mrs. Rusk can prove it perfectly.”

“And why do you dislike her so very much?” I asked.

Cousin Monica leaned back in her chair, and searched the cornice from corner to corner with upturned eyes for the reason, and at last laughed a little, amused at herself.

“Well, really, it is not easy to define, and, perhaps, it is not quite charitable; but I know I hate her, and I know, you little hypocrite, you hate her as much as I;” and we both laughed a little.

“But you must tell me all you know of her history.”

“Her history?” echoed she. “I really know next to nothing about it; only that I used to see her sometimes about the place that Georgina mentions, and there were some unpleasant things said about her; but you know they may be all lies. The worst I know of her is her treatment of you, and her robbing the desk”⁠—(Cousin Monica always called it her robbery)⁠—“and I think that’s enough to hang her. Suppose we go out for a walk?”

So together we went, and I resumed about Madame; but no more could I extract⁠—perhaps there was not much more to hear.

XXX On the Road

All at Knowl was indicative of the breakup that was so near at hand. Doctor Bryerly arrived according to promise. He was in a whirl of business all the time. He and Mr. Danvers conferred about the management of the estate. It was agreed that the grounds and gardens should be let, but not the house, of which Mrs. Rusk was to take the care. The gamekeeper remained in office, and some outdoor servants. But the rest were to go, except Mary Quince, who was to accompany me to Bartram-Haugh as my maid.

“Don’t part with Quince,” said Lady Knollys, peremptorily “they’ll want you, but don’t.”

She kept harping on this point, and recurred to it half a dozen times every day.

“They’ll say, you know, that she is not fit for a lady’s maid, as she certainly is not, if it in the least signified in such a wilderness as Bartram-Haugh; but she is attached, trustworthy, and honest; and those are qualities valuable everywhere, especially in a solitude. Don’t allow them to get you a wicked young French milliner in her stead.”

Sometimes she said things that jarred unpleasantly on my nerves, and left an undefined sense of danger. Such as:⁠—

“I know she’s true to you, and a good creature; but is she shrewd enough?”

Or, with an anxious look:⁠—

“I hope Mary Quince is not easily frightened.”

Or, suddenly:⁠—

“Can Mary Quince write, in case you were ill?”

Or,

“Can she take a message exactly?”

Or,

“Is she a person of any enterprise and resource, and cool in an emergency?”

Now, these questions did not come all in a string, as I write them down here, but at long intervals, and were followed quickly by ordinary talk; but they generally escaped from my companion after silence and gloomy thought; and though I could extract nothing more defined than these questions, yet they seemed to me to point at some possible danger contemplated in my good cousin’s dismal ruminations.

Another topic that occupied my cousin’s mind a good deal was obviously the larceny of my pearl cross. She made a note of the description furnished by the recollection, respectively, of Mary Quince, Mrs. Rusk, and myself. I had fancied her little vision of the police was no more than the result of a momentary impulse; but really, to judge by her methodical examinations of us, I should have fancied that she had taken it up in downright earnest.

Having learned that my departure from Knowl was to be so very soon, she resolved not to leave me before the day of my journey to Bartram-Haugh; and as day after day passed by, and the hour of our leave-taking approached, she became more and more kind and affectionate. A feverish and sorrowful interval it was to me.

Of Doctor Bryerly, though staying in the house, we saw almost nothing, except for an hour or so at teatime. He breakfasted very early, and dined solitarily, and at uncertain hours, as business permitted.

The second evening of his visit, Cousin Monica took occasion to introduce the subject of his visit to Bartram-Haugh.

“You saw him, of course?” said Lady Knollys.

“Yes, he saw me; he was not well. On hearing who I was, he asked me to go to his room, where he sat in a silk dressing-gown