The Mynns' Mystery

The Mynns' Mystery
О книге

Книга "The Mynns' Mystery", автором которой является George Fenn, представляет собой захватывающую работу в жанре Зарубежная классика. В этом произведении автор рассказывает увлекательную историю, которая не оставит равнодушными читателей.

Автор мастерски воссоздает атмосферу напряженности и интриги, погружая читателя в мир загадок и тайн, который скрывается за хрупкой поверхностью обыденности. С прекрасным чувством языка и виртуозностью сюжетного развития, George Fenn позволяет читателю погрузиться в сложные эмоциональные переживания героев и проникнуться их судьбами. Fenn настолько живо и точно передает неповторимые нюансы человеческой психологии, что каждая страница книги становится путешествием в глубины человеческой души.

"The Mynns' Mystery" - это не только захватывающая история, но и искусство, проникнутое глубокими мыслями и философскими размышлениями. Это произведение призвано вызвать у читателя эмоциональные отклики, задуматься о важных жизненных вопросах и открыть новые горизонты восприятия мира.


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Chapter One

A Rough Suitor

“Be quiet! What a silly little fluttering dove it is, struggling like this, ruffling all your plumes, and making your face so red. But how it becomes you!”

“Mr Saul Harrington, how dare you!”

“Because I love you so, you little beauty. There – and there – and there!”

The kisses were given in spite of the frightened looks and struggles; but at each kiss there was a faint cry of shame, dislike, and indignation mingled.

“You know I love you, and I know you love me.”

“It is not true, sir. Let me go!”

“It is true, or you would have screamed the house down.”

“If I do not scream for help, it is because I would not alarm your uncle. I tell you he is dying.”

“Gammon, Gertie! The old tyrant – he is too tough. No such luck for us. There, don’t struggle any more. You are going to be my darling little wife.”

“Mr Saul. Pray, pray let me go.”

“Directly you have given me your word, Gertie. There, it is your fault that I was so rough. You do love me?”

“I hate you, sir, with all my heart, and you force me to say it. This is a cruel outrage. What have I done that you should dare to treat me so? Is there no one to help me? Bruno! Bruno!”

There was a short yelp, a sound as of a dog leaping to the floor, the rattle of nails in the hall, and a plump up against the door, accompanied by an impatient bark.

Saul Harrington, a good-looking man of five-and-thirty, started, and involuntarily loosed his hold of his captive, just as there was a sharp peal of a bell, and the slight, dark-eyed, trembling girl he had held in his arms slipped away, darted to the door of the sombre-looking dining-room, threw it open, and ran out, just as a great black Gordon-setter bounded in, set up the frill of hair about his neck, and uttered a low fierce growl, as he stood glaring at the occupant of the room.

“Lie down, you beast!” was the savage retort. “Oh, that’s it, is it? Well, the time may come, my fine fellow, when I can do as I like here, and, if it does, why, then – well, I’m sorry for you.”

But the dog did not lie down, and when requested to give his paw, turned his back upon the visitor, and slowly walked out of the room.

“A beast! All her coyness. A bit frightened, perhaps. Don’t suppose she was ever kissed before. She liked it, though, a pretty little jade. Well, what are you staring at, you old curmudgeon?” he continued, standing apostrophising a portrait hung over the sideboard – that of a stern-looking, fierce-eyed old man, the said eyes seeming to follow him, go where he would. “I’ll kiss her, and as soon as you are dead I’ll marry her, and we’ll spend your rusty coin, you miserable old usurer. I wish you were out of the world.”

He threw himself in a great morocco-covered easy-chair and bit his nails carefully all round, pulled off his left-hand glove, and treated the fingers there to the same trimming, as he looked furtively about from the rich thick Turkey carpet to the solid furniture, and the great silver salver on the sideboard; ending by trying to appraise the two fine paintings at the side of the room.

“Yes,” he muttered, “one ought to do pretty well. I’m tired of being poor – and in debt.”

“George!” he said softly, after gazing thoughtfully before him. “No, he’ll never leave him a penny. The father killed that. Gertie will get all. I shall get Gertie, and the silly little jade will not struggle then.”

He rose, laughing in an unpleasant way, and began walking up and down the room. Then, growing weary and impatient, he crossed to the door, opened it gently, looked out into the dull hall, with its black and white marble floor, and listened.

Tick-tack! tick-tack! the slowly beating off seconds measured by a tall, old-fashioned clock. Not another sound; and Saul Harrington drew back into the room and closed the door.

“She’ll come down again,” he muttered, with the same, unpleasant laugh. “Trust her woman’s nature. All latent yet, but it’s there, and opportunity will bring it out. All her pretence. She knows that she will be my wife and girls like a little rough courting, or I’m no judge.”

An hour, that seemed like two, passed slowly away, and then Saul Harrington rang the bell.

At the end of a minute a quiet, very old-looking woman in black, with white cap and old-fashioned muslin cross-over, came to the door.

“Go and tell Miss Gertrude I am waiting to see her again.”

“She is with master, sir.”

“Well, go and tell her, Mrs Denton.”

The woman shook her head.

“I dare not, sir. It would send master into a fit of fury.”

“Pish! Never mind; I’ll wait. How is he?”

The woman shook her head, lifted her white apron, and applied a corner to her eyes.

“None of that, Mrs Denton,” said Saul Harrington, with a sneering laugh. “So fond of him, eh?”

“Yes, sir. Dear old master.”

“Ha, ha! Dear old master! Won’t do, Denton, I’m too old. Don’t wait.”

“If it would please God to spare him for a score of years,” said the old servant piously, as she left the room. “A bit harsh and a bit of a temper; but I know – I know.”

“I’ll wait and see her again, if I have to wait all night,” said Saul Harrington to himself. “Hang this grim old house! It’s almost as gloomy as a tomb.”

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