The Greatest Supernatural Tales of Sheridan Le Fanu (70+ Titles in One Edition). M. R. James

      “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

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      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 was very much frightened and amazed, and felt on the point of bursting into tears.

      “So, Mademoiselle, you have married, it seems, since I had last the honour of seeing you? I did not recognise Mademoiselle under her new name.”

      “Yes — I am married, Lady Knollys; I thought everyone who knew me had heard of that. Very respectably married, for a person of my rank. I shall not need long the life of a governess. There is no harm, I hope?”

      “I hope not,” said Lady Knollys, drily, a little pale, and still looking with a dark sort of wonder upon the flushed face and forehead of the governess, who was looking downward, straight before her, very sulkily and disconcerted.

      “I suppose you have explained everything satisfactorily to Mr. Ruthyn, in whose house I find you?” said Cousin Monica.

      “Yes, certainly — everything he requires — in effect there is nothing to explain. I am ready to answer to any question. Let him demand me.”

      “Very good, Mademoiselle.”

      “Madame, if you please.”

      “I forgot — Madame — yes. I shall apprise him of everything.”

      Madame turned upon her a peaked and malign look, smiling askance with a stealthy scorn.

      “For myself, I have nothing to conceal. I have always done my duty. What fine scene about nothing absolutely — what charming remedies for a sick person! Ma foi! how much oblige I am for these so amiable attentions!”

      “So far as I can see, Mademoiselle — Madame, I mean — you don’t stand very much in need of remedies. Your ear and head don’t seem to trouble you just now. I fancy these pains may now be dismissed.”

      Lady Knollys was now speaking French.

      “Mi ladi has diverted my attention for a moment, but that does not prevent that I suffer frightfully. I am, of course, only poor governess, and such people perhaps ought not to have pain — at least to show when they suffer. It is permitted us to die, but not to be sick.”

      “Come, Maud, my dear, let us leave the invalid to her repose and to nature. I don’t think she needs my chloroform and opium at present.”

      “Mi ladi is herself a physic which chases many things, and powerfully affects the ear. I would wish to sleep, notwithstanding, and can but gain that in silence, if it pleases mi ladi.”

      “Come, my dear,” said Lady Knollys, without again glancing at the scowling, smiling, swarthy face on the bed; “let us leave your instructress to her concforto.”

      “The room smells all over of brandy, my dear — does she drink?” said Lady Knollys, as she closed the door, a little sharply.

      I am sure I looked as much amazed as I felt, at an imputation which then seemed to me so entirely incredible.

      “Good little simpleton!” said Cousin Monica, smiling in my face, and bestowing a little kiss on my cheek; “such a thing as a tipsy lady has never been dreamt of in your philosophy. Well, we live and learn. Let us have our tea in my room — the gentlemen, I dare say, have retired.”

      I