/0/12579/coverbig.jpg?v=3f9bd6c0922ad29b38e901e36d6d647b)
Checkmate by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
Checkmate by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
There stands about a mile and a half beyond Islington, unless it has come down within the last two years, a singular and grand old house. It belonged to the family of Arden, once distinguished in the Northumbrian counties. About fifty acres of ground, rich with noble clumps and masses of old timber, surround it; old-world fish-ponds, with swans sailing upon them, tall yew hedges, quincunxes, leaden fauns and goddesses, and other obsolete splendours surround it.
It rises, tall, florid, built of Caen stone, with a palatial flight of steps, and something of the grace and dignity of the genius of Inigo Jones, to whom it is ascribed, with the shadows of ancestral trees and the stains of two centuries upon it, and a vague character of gloom and melancholy, not improved by some indications not actually of decay, but of something too like neglect.
It is now evening, and a dusky glow envelopes the scene. The setting sun throws its level beams, through tall drawing-room windows, ruddily upon the Dutch tapestry on the opposite walls, and not unbecomingly lights up the little party assembled there.
Good-natured, fat Lady May Penrose, in her bonnet, sips her tea and chats agreeably. Her carriage waits outside. You will ask who is that extremely beautiful girl who sits opposite, her large soft grey eyes gazing towards the western sky with a look of abstraction, too forgetful for a time of her company, leaning upon the slender hand she has placed under her cheek. How silken and golden-tinted the dark brown hair that grows so near her brows, making her forehead low, and marking with its broad line the beautiful oval of her face! Is there carmine anywhere to match her brilliant lips? And when, recollecting something to tell Lady May, she turns on a sudden, smiling, how soft and pretty the dimples, and how even the little row of pearls she discloses!
This is Alice Arden, whose singularly handsome brother Richard, with some of her tints and outlines translated into masculine beauty, stands leaning on the back of a prie-dieu chair, and chatting gaily.
But who is the thin, tall man-the only sinister figure in the group-with one hand in his breast, the other on a cabinet, as he leans against the wall? Who is that pale, thin-lipped man, "with cadaverous aspect and broken beak," whose eyes never seem to light up, but maintain their dismal darkness while his pale lips smile? Those eyes are fixed on the pretty face of Alice Arden, as she talks to Lady May, with a strangely intense gaze. His eyebrows rise a little, like those of Mephistopheles, towards his temples, with an expression that is inflexibly sarcastic, and sometimes menacing. His jaw is slightly underhung, a formation which heightens the satirical effect of his smile, and, by contrast, marks the depression of his nose.
There was at this time in London a Mr. Longcluse, an agreeable man, a convenient man, who had got a sort of footing in many houses, nobody exactly knew how. He had a knack of obliging people when they really wanted a trifling kindness, and another of holding fast his advantage, and, without seeming to push, or ever appearing to flatter, of maintaining the acquaintance he had once founded. He looked about eight-and-thirty: he was really older. He was gentlemanlike, clever, and rich; but not a soul of all the men who knew him had ever heard of him at school or college. About his birth, parentage, and education, about his "life and adventures," he was dark.
How were his smart acquaintance made? Oddly, as we shall learn when we know him a little better. It was a great pity that there were some odd things said about this very agreeable, obliging, and gentlemanlike person. It was a pity that more was not known about him. The man had enemies, no doubt, and from the sort of reserve that enveloped him their opportunity arose. But were there not about town hundreds of men, well enough accepted, about whose early days no one cared a pin, and everything was just as dark?
Now Mr. Longcluse, with his pallid face, his flat nose, his sarcastic eyebrows, and thin-lipped smile, was overlooking this little company, his shoulder leaning against the frame that separated two pieces of the pretty Dutch tapestry which covered the walls.
"By-the-bye, Mr. Longcluse-you can tell me, for you always know everything," said Lady May-"is there still any hope of that poor child's recovering-I mean the one in that dreadful murder in Thames Street, where the six poor little children were stabbed?"
Mr. Longcluse smiled.
"I'm so glad, Lady May, I can answer you upon good authority! I stopped to-day to ask Sir Edwin Dudley that very question through his carriage window, and he said that he had just been to the hospital to see the poor little thing, and that it was likely to do well."
"I'm so glad! And what do they say can have been the motive of the murder?"
"Jealousy, they say; or else the man is mad."
"I should not wonder. I'm sure I hope he is. But they should take care to put him under lock and key."
"So they will, rely on it; that's a matter of course."
"I don't know how it is," continued Lady May, who was garrulous, "that murders interest people so much, who ought to be simply shocked at them."
"We have a murder in our family, you know," said Richard Arden.
"That was poor Henry Arden-I know," she answered, lowering her voice and dropping her eyes, with a side glance at Alice, for she did not know how she might like to hear it talked of.
"Oh, that happened when Alice was only five months old, I think," said Richard; and slipping into the chair beside Lady May, he laid his hand upon hers with a smile, and whispered, leaning towards her-
"You are always so thoughtful; it is so nice of you!"
And this short speech ended, his eyes remained fixed for some seconds, with a glow of tender admiration, on those of fat Lady May, who simpered with effusion, and did not draw her hand away until she thought she saw Mr. Longcluse glance their way.
It was quite true, all he said of Lady May. It would not be easy to find a simpler or more good-natured person. She was very rich also, and, it was said by people who love news and satire, had long been willing to share her gold and other chattels with handsome Richard Arden, who being but five-and-twenty, might very nearly have been her son.
"I remember that horrible affair," said Mr. Longcluse, with a little shrug and a shake of his head. "Where was I then-Paris or Vienna? Paris it was. I recollect it all now, for my purse was stolen by the very man who made his escape-Mace was his name; he was a sort of low man on the turf, I believe. I was very young then-somewhere about seventeen, I think."
"You can't have been more, of course," said good-natured Lady May.
"I should like very much some time to hear all about it," continued Mr. Longcluse.
"So you shall," said Richard, "whenever you like."
"Every old family has a murder, and a ghost, and a beauty also, though she does not always live and breathe, except in the canvas of Lely, or Kneller, or Reynolds: and they, you know, had roses and lilies to give away at discretion, in their paint-boxes, and were courtiers," remarked Mr. Longcluse, "who dealt sometimes in the old-fashioned business of making compliments. I say happy the man who lives in those summers when the loveliness of some beautiful family culminates, and who may, at ever such a distance, gaze and worship."
This ugly man spoke in a low tone, and his voice was rather sweet. He looked as he spoke at Miss Arden, from whom, indeed, his eyes did not often wander.
"Very prettily said!" applauded Lady May affably.
"I forgot to ask you, Lady May," inquired Alice, cruelly, at this moment, "how the pretty little Italian greyhound is that was so ill-better, I hope."
"Ever so much-quite well almost. I'd have taken him out for a drive to-day, poor dear little Pepsie! but that I thought the sun just a little overpowering. Didn't you?"
"Perhaps a little."
Mr. Longcluse lowered his eyes as he leaned against the wall and sighed, with a pained smile, that even upon his plain, pallid face, was pathetic.
Did proud Richard Arden perceive the devotion of the dubious Longcluse-undefined in position, in history, in origin, in character, in all things but in wealth? Of course he did, perfectly. But that wealth was said to be enormous. There were Jews, who ought to know, who said he was worth one million eight hundred thousand pounds, and that his annual income was considerably more than a hundred thousand pounds a year.
Was a man like that to be dismissed without inquiry? Had he not found him good-natured and gentlemanlike? What about those stories circulated among Jews and croupiers? Enemies might affect to believe them, and quote the old saw, "There is never smoke without fire;" but dare one of them utter a word of the kind aloud? Did they stand the test of five minutes' inquiry, such even as he had given them? Had he found a particle of proof, of evidence, of suspicion? Not a spark. What man had ever escaped stories who was worth forging a lie about?
Here was a man worth more than a million. Why, if he let him slip through his fingers, some duchess would pounce on him for her daughter.
It was well that Longcluse was really in love-well, perhaps, that he did not appreciate the social omnipotence of money.
"Where is Sir Reginald at present?" asked Lady May.
"Not here, you may be sure," answered Richard. "My father does not admit my visits, you know."
"Really! And is that miserable quarrel kept up still?"
"Only too true. He is in France at present; at Vichy-ain't it Vichy?" he said to Alice.
But she, not choosing to talk, said simply, "Yes-Vichy."
"I'm going to take Alice into town again; she has promised to stay with me a little longer. And I think you neglect her a little, don't you? You ought to come and see her a little oftener," pleaded Lady May, in an undertone.
"I only feared I was boring you all. Nothing, you know, would give me half so much pleasure," he answered.
"Well, then, she'll expect your visits, mind."
A little silence followed. Richard was vexed with his sister; she was, he thought, snubbing his friend Longcluse.
Well, when once he had spoken his mind and disclosed his treasures, Richard flattered himself he had some influence; and did not Lady May swear by Mr. Longcluse? And was his father, the most despotic and violent of baronets, and very much dipt, likely to listen to sentimental twaddle pleading against a hundred thousand a year? So, Miss Alice, if you were disposed to talk nonsense, it was not very likely to be listened to, and sharp and short logic might ensue.
How utterly unconscious of all this she sits there, thinking, I daresay, of quite another person!
Mr. Longcluse was also for a moment in profound reverie; so was Richard Arden. The secrecy of thought is a pleasant privilege to the thinker-perhaps hardly less a boon to the person pondered upon.
If each man's forehead could project its shadows and the light of his spirit shine through, and the confluence of figures and phantoms that cross and march behind it become visible, how that magic-lantern might appal good easy people!
And now the ladies fell to talking and comparing notes about their guipure lacework.
"How charming yours looks, my dear, round that little table!" exclaimed Lady May in a rapture. "I'm sure I hope mine may turn out half as pretty. I wanted to compare; I'm not quite sure whether it is exactly the same pattern."
And so on, until it was time for them to order their wings for town.
The gentlemen have business of their own to transact, or pleasures to pursue. Mr. Longcluse has his trap there, to carry them into town when their hour comes. They can only put the ladies into their places, and bid them good-bye, and exchange parting reminders and good-natured speeches.
Pale Mr. Longcluse, as he stands on the steps, looks with his dark eyes after the disappearing carriage, and sighs deeply. He has forgotten all for the moment but one dream. Richard Arden wakens him, by laying his hand on his shoulder.
"Come, Longcluse, let us have a cigar in the billiard-room, and a talk. I have a box of Manillas that I think you will say are delicious-that is, if you like them full-flavoured."
Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made available for future generations to enjoy.
J. S. Le Fanu's Ghostly Tales, Volume 3 by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu
It was late in the autumn, and I was skimming along, through a rich English county, in a postchaise, among tall hedgerows gilded, like all the landscape, with the slanting beams of sunset. The road makes a long and easy descent into the little town of Gylingden, and down this we were going at an exhilarating pace, and the jingle of the vehicle sounded like sledge-bells in my ears, and its swaying and jerking were pleasant and life-like. I fancy I was in one of those moods which, under similar circumstances, I sometimes experience still — a semi-narcotic excitement, silent but delightful.
This is a reproduction of a book published before 1923. This book may have occasional imperfections such as missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. that were either part of the original artifact, or were introduced by the scanning process. We believe this work is culturally important, and despite the imperfections, have elected to bring it back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide. We appreciate your understanding of the imperfections in the preservation process, and hope you enjoy this valuable book.
Life was a bed of roses for Debra, the daughter of Alpha. That was until she had a one-night stand with Caleb. She was sure he was her mate as determined by Moon Goddess. But this hateful man refused to accept her. Weeks passed before Debra discovered that she was pregnant. Her pregnancy brought shame to her and everyone she loved. Not only was she driven out, but her father was also hunted down by usurpers. Fortunately, she survived with the help of the mysterious Thorn Edge Pack. Five years passed and Debra didn't hear anything from Caleb. One day, their paths crossed again. They were both on the same mission—carrying out secret investigations in the dangerous Roz Town for the safety and posterity of their respective packs. Caleb was still cold toward her. But as time went on, he fell head over heels in love with her. He tried to make up for abandoning her, but Debra wasn't having any of it. She was hell-bent on hiding her daughter from him and also making a clean break. What did the future hold for the two as they journeyed in Roz Town? What kind of secrets would they find? Would Caleb win Debra's heart and get to know his lovely daughter? Find out!
To the public, she was the CEO's executive secretary. Behind closed doors, she was the wife he never officially acknowledged. Jenessa was elated when she learned that she was pregnant. But that joy was replaced with dread as her husband, Ryan, showered his affections on his first love. With a heavy heart, she chose to set him free and leave. When they met again, Ryan's attention was caught by Jenessa's protruding belly. "Whose child are you carrying?!" he demanded. But she only scoffed. "It's none of your business, my dear ex-husband!"
In her past life, she trusted the wrong people-and betrayed the one man who loved her most. Blinded by lies, she pushed her fiancé into ruin. Yet even as the world turned against him, he forgave her. And in the end, he slaughtered all her enemies, before using the final blade to follow her into death. Now reborn, she swears to rewrite her fate. This time, she tears apart the fake innocents, crushes the traitors, and rises in brilliance-only for one purpose: to win back the heart of the man she once destroyed. But little does she know. He never truly left. From the shadows, he has already laid his trap, created a world where she can only fall-back into his arms. A love once buried in blood and regret will now reignite amidst vengeance, redemption, and fate's cruel game.
Abandoned as a child and orphaned by murder, Kathryn swore she'd reclaim every shred of her stolen birthright. When she returned, society called her an unpolished love-child, scoffing that Evan had lost his mind to marry her. Only Evan knew the truth: the quiet woman he cradled like porcelain hid secrets enough to set the city trembling. She doubled as a legendary healer, an elusive hacker, and the royal court's favorite perfumer. At meetings, the directors groaned at the lovey-dovey couple, "Does she really have to be here?" Evan shrugged. "Happy wife, happy life." Soon her masks fell, and those who sneered bowed in awe.
"Maverick, you never loved me all these years, did you?" "Be good. You're just a substitute." ___ Never did Valencia expect that what her crush thought of her was a substitute for another woman. And never did she expect that the asshole would break the news to her after she gave herself to him a night before their wedding. Unable to take in the heartbreak, Valencia fled on her wedding day. Fast-forward to five years later; Valencia is now the anonymous owner of a company and the diligent mother of smart-ass quadruplets who think mom is the best and shouldn't be stressed. And the most important thing: Mom needs a capable boyfriend. Someone dared to attack their mommy? Mom will face-slap, and if Mom can't, Quadruplet will! A certain shameless man: 'Darling, relax; I'll properly beat them up for you. After the beating, what do you think we should have next-a triplet or a sextuplet?' Valencia: "...." Smartass quadruplets: Didn't you consider Mom to be a substitute? Scram. We don't recognize you!
Two years after her marriage, Ximena lost consciousness in a pool of her own blood during a difficult childbirth. She forgot that her ex-husband was actually getting married to someone else that day. "Let's get a divorce, but the baby stays with me." His words before their divorce was finalized still lingered in her head. He wasn't there for her, but he wanted full custody of their child. Ximena would rather die than see her child call someone else mother. As a result, she gave up the ghost on the operating table with two babies left in her belly. But that wasn't the end for her... Years later, fate caused them to meet again. Ramon was a changed man this time. He wanted to keep her to himself even though she was already a mother of two children. When he found out about her wedding, he stormed into the venue and created a scene. "Ramon, I died once before, so I don't mind dying again. But this time, I want us to die together," she yelled, glaring at him with hurt in her eyes. Ximena thought he didn't love her and was happy that she was finally out of his life. But what she didn't know was that the news of her unexpected death had shattered his heart. For a long time, he cried alone due to the pain and agony. He always wished he could turn back the hands of time or see her beautiful face once again. The drama that came later became too much for Ximena. Her life was filled with twists and turns. Soon, she was torn between getting back with her ex-husband or moving on with her life. What would she choose?
© 2018-now CHANGDU (HK) TECHNOLOGY LIMITED
6/F MANULIFE PLACE 348 KWUN TONG ROAD KL
TOP