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The Floating Press - Sheridan Le Fanu

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289 pages

English

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Description

Acclaimed Irish master of gothic horror Sheridan Le Fanu adds a little something to appeal to every reader in this atmospheric, suspenseful novel that is an expanded version of one of his earlier short stories, a tale that some critics regard as having been an influence Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. Young orphan Alice Maybell is taken in by the Fairfield family, but her shot at a lifetime of happiness is imperiled when she finds herself involved in a twisted love triangle.

Informations

Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 octobre 2016
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776672219
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

THE WYVERN MYSTERY
* * *
SHERIDAN LE FANU

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The Wyvern Mystery First published in 1869 Epub ISBN 978-1-77667-221-9 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77667-222-6 © 2016 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Dedication VOLUME I Chapter I - Alice Maybell Chapter II - The Vale of Carwell Chapter III - The Grange Chapter IV - The Old Squire and Alice Maybell Chapter V - The Terrace Garden Chapter VI - The Old Squire Unlike Himself Chapter VII - The Squire's Eldest Son Comes Home Chapter VIII - Never Did Run Smooth Chapter IX - In Which the Squire Loses His Gold-Headed Cane Chapter X - The Drive over Cressley Common by Moonlight Chapter XI - Home Chapter XII - The Omen of Carwell Grange Chapter XIII - An Inspection of Carwell Grange Chapter XIV - A Letter Chapter XV - Harry Arrives Chapter XVI - A Party of Three Chapter XVII - Mildred Tarnley's Warning Story Chapter XVIII - The Brothers' Walk Chapter XIX - Coming In Chapter XX - Harry Appears at the Grange Chapter XXI - Harry's Beer and Conversation Chapter XXII - The Trout Chapter XXIII - The Visitor VOLUME II Chapter I - The Summons Chapter II - Lilly Dogger is Sent to Bed Chapter III - The Lady Has Her Tea Chapter IV - Through the House Chapter V - The Bell Rings Chapter VI - Tom is Ordered Up Chapter VII - The Old Soldier Grows More Friendly, and Frightens Mrs. Tarnley Chapter VIII - News from Cressley Common Chapter IX - An Unlooked-for Return Chapter X - Charles Fairfield Alone Chapter XI - Awake Chapter XII - Restless Chapter XIII - Through the Wall Chapter XIV - A Messenger Chapter XV - Unreasonable Bertha Chapter XVI - An Abduction Chapter XVII - Pursuit Chapter XVIII - Day—Twilight—Darkness Chapter XIX - Hatherton Chapter XX - The Welcome Chapter XXI - The Wykeford Doctor VOLUME III Chapter I - Speech Returns Chapter II - Harry Drinks a Glass and Spills a Glass Chapter III - Home to Wyvern Chapter IV - A Twilight Visit Chapter V - The Heir of the Fairfields Chapter VI - Bertha Velderkaust Chapter VII - Sergeant-Major Archdale Chapter VIII - A Talk with the Squire Chapter IX - Harry Fairfield Grows Uneasy Chapter X - A Drive to Twyford Chapter XI - How Fares the Child? Chapter XII - The Old Squire Leaves Wyvern Chapter XIII - Marjory Trevellian Chapter XIV - The Enchanted Garden Chapter XV - An Old Friend Chapter XVI - Tom Orange Chapter XVII - The Hour and the Man Chapter XVIII - The March to Noulton Farm Chapter XIX - A Silent Farewell Chapter XX - The March by Night Conclusion
Dedication
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MY DEAR JUDGE KEOGH,
You, who take an interest in all Literature, will not disdain the dedication of these trifling Volumes, in testimony of an early friendship, never interrupted, and of an admiration everywhere inspired by your brilliant talents.
Ever yours most faithfully,
J. S. LE FANU.
VOLUME I
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Chapter I - Alice Maybell
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In the small breakfast parlour of Oulton, a pretty girl, Miss AliceMaybell, with her furs and wrappers about her, and a journey of fortymiles before her — not by rail — to Wyvern, had stood up to hug and kissher old aunt, and bid her good-bye.
"Now, do sit down again; you need not be in such a hurry — you're not togo for ten minutes or more," said the old lady; "do, there's a darling."
"If I'm not home before the sun goes down, aunt, Mr. Fairfield will beso angry," said the girl, laying a hand on each shoulder of kind oldLady Wyndale, and looking fondly, but also sadly, into her face.
"Which Mr. Fairfield, dear — the old or the young one?"
"Old Mr. Fairfield, the Squire, as we call him at Wyvern. He'll reallybe angry, and I'm a little bit afraid of him, and I would not vex himfor the world — he has always been so kind."
As she answered, the young lady blushed a beautiful crimson, and the oldlady, not observing it, said —
"Indeed, I don't know why I said young — young Mr. Fairfield is oldenough, I think, to be your father; but I want to know how you likedLord Tremaine. I told you how much he liked you. I'm a great believer infirst impressions. He was so charmed with you, when he saw you in WyvernChurch. Of course he ought to have been thinking of something better;but no matter — the fact was so, and now he is, I really think, in love— very much — and who knows? He's such a charming person, and there iseverything to make it — I don't know what word to use — but you knowTremaine is quite a beautiful place, and he does not owe a guinea."
"You dear old auntie," said the girl, kissing her again on the cheek,"wicked old darling — always making great matches for me. If you hadremained in India, you'd have married me, I'm sure, to a native prince."
"Native fiddlestick; of course I could if I had liked, but you nevershould have married a Mahomedan with my consent. Never mind though;you're sure to do well; marriages are made in heaven, and I reallybelieve there is no use in plotting and planning. There was your darlingmamma, when we were both girls together, I said I should never consentto marry a soldier or live out of England, and I did marry a soldier,and lived twelve years of my life in India; and she, poor darling, saidagain and again, she did not care who her husband might be, provided hewas not a clergyman, nor a person living all the year round in thecountry — that no power could induce her to consent to, and yet she didconsent, and to both one and the other, and married a clergyman, and apoor one, and lived and died in the country. So, after all, there's notmuch use in planning beforehand."
"Very true, auntie; none in the world, I believe."
The girl was looking partly over her shoulder, out of the window, upwardtowards the clouds, and she sighed heavily; and recollecting herself,looked again in her aunt's face and smiled.
"I wish you could have stayed a little longer here," said her aunt.
"I wish I could," she answered slowly, "I was thinking of talking over agreat many things with you — that is, of telling you all my long stories;but while those people were staying here I could not, and now there isnot time."
"What long stories, my dear?"
"Stupid stories, I should have said," answered Alice.
"Well come, is there anything to tell?" demanded the old lady, lookingin her large, dark eyes.
"Nothing worth telling — nothing that is —" and she paused for thecontinuation of her sentence.
"That is what?" asked her aunt.
"I was going to talk to you, darling," answered the girl, "but I couldnot in so short a time — so short a time as remains now," and she lookedat her watch — a gift of old Squire Fairfield's. "I should not know howto make myself understood, I have so many hundred things, and alljumbled up in my head, and should not know how to begin."
"Well, I'll begin for you. Come — have any visitors looked in at Wyvernlately?" said her aunt.
"Not one," she answered.
"No new faces?"
"No, indeed."
"Are there any new neighbours?" persisted the old lady.
"Not one. No, aunt, it isn't that."
"And where are these elderly young gentlemen, the two Mr. Fairfields?"asked the old lady.
The girl laughed, and shook her head.
"Wandering at present. Captain Fairfield is in London."
"And his charming younger brother — where is he?" asked Lady Wyndale.
"At some fair, I suppose, or horse-race; or, goodness knows where,"answered the girl.
"I was going to ask you whether there was an affair of the heart," saidher aunt. "But there does not seem much material; and what was thesubject? Though I can't hear it all, you may tell me what it was to beabout."
"About fifty things, or nothings. There's no one on earth, auntie,darling, but you I can talk anything over with; and I'll write, or, ifyou let me, come again for a day or two, very soon — may I?"
"Of course, no ," said her aunt gaily. "But we are not to be quitealone, all the time, mind. There are people who would not forgive me ifI were to do anything so selfish, but I promise you ample time totalk — you and I to ourselves; and now that I think, I should like tohear by the post, if you will write and say anything you like. You maybe quite sure nobody shall hear a word about it."
By this time they had got to the hall-door.
"I'm sure of that, darling," and she kissed the kind old lady.
"And are you quite sure you would not like a servant to travel withyou; he could sit beside the driver?"
"No, dear auntie, my trusty old Dulcibella sits inside to take care ofme."
"Well, dear, are you quite sure? I should not miss him the least."
"Quite, dear aunt, I assure you."
"And you know you told me you were quite happy at Wyvern," said LadyWyndale, returning her farewell caress, and speaking low, for a servantstood at the chaise-door.
"Did I? Well, I shouldn't have said that, for — I'm not happy,"whispered Alice Maybell, and the tears sprang to her eyes as she kissedher old kinswoman; and then, with her arms still about her neck, therewas a brief look from her large, brimming eyes, while her lip trembled;and suddenly she turned, and before Lady Wyndale had recovered from thatlittle shock, her pretty guest was seated in the chaise, the door shut,and she drove away.
"What can it be, poor little thing?" thought Lady Wyndale, as her eyesanxiously followed the carriage in its flight down the avenue.
"They have shot her pet-pigeon, or the dog has killed her guinea-pig,or old Fairfield won't allow her to sit up till twelve o'clock at night,reading her novel. Some childish misery, I dare say, poor little soul!"
But for all that she w