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Forthcoming titles

(Book titles are subject to change)

A Royal Engineer in the Low Countries

A Cavalry Surgeon at Waterloo

With the Third Guards during the Peninsular War

The First and Last Campaigns of the Great War

Supernatural and Weird Fiction of Vincent O'Sullivan

Supernatural and Weird Fiction of Algernon Blackwood

Narratives of the Anglo-Zulu War

and many others

The Collected Supernatural and Weird Fiction of Mrs Henry Wood: Volume 2

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The Collected Supernatural and Weird Fiction of Mrs Henry Wood: Volume 2
Leonaur Original
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Author(s): Mrs Henry Wood
Date Published: 2013/04
Page Count: 504
Softcover ISBN-13: 978-1-78282-055-0
Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-78282-054-3

Volume two of the supernatural fiction of Mrs Henry Wood

Mrs. Henry Wood was one of a notable cadre of proficient authors of all manner of fiction, much of which appeared serially in the numerous periodicals of the Victorian period. Ellen Wood (formerly Price) was born in Worcestershire in 1815 and is principally remembered for as the author of ‘East Lynne’—one of the most popular sensation novels of the mid-19th century. She wrote over 30 novels as well as many shorter works of mystery, crime and suspense. Her supernatural fiction has endured by virtue of its lasting quality and has been acclaimed by aficionados and critics alike, including the not lightly given approbation of M. R. James. The Victorian public’s appetite for stories of the weird and ghostly was insatiable and huge amounts of it was published. This resulted in a golden age for the genre. Almost every popular fiction writer of the period tried their hand at ghostly or terrifying stories, including some of the most notable authors of the time such as Dickens, R. L. Stevenson, Kipling and Conan Doyle. Some became well known and well regarded ‘specialists’ in the ghostly tale; foremost among these were women writers who had a particular talent for supernatural themes. Among the first rank of these was Mrs Henry Wood and this substantial Leonaur three volume collection is probably the first comprehensive collection of her other worldly fiction to be published. In volume two readers will find ‘Sandstone Torr,’ ‘Ketira the Gypsy,’ ‘The Surgeon’s Daughters,’ ‘The Unholy Wish’ and eight more stories of the strange and unusual.
Leonaur editions are newly typeset and are not facsimiles; each title is available in softcover and hardback with dustjacket.

Captain Monk’s first impulse on reading this was to send Rimmer back to say she might go and be hanged. But to call him from the table was so very extreme a measure, that on second thoughts he decided to go to her. Mrs, Carradyne was standing just outside the door, looking as white as a sheet.<br>
“Well, this is pretty bold of you, Madam Emma,” he began angrily. “Are you out of your senses?”<br>
“Hush, Godfrey! Katherine is dying.”<br>
“What?” cried the captain, the words confusing him.<br>
“Katherine is dying,” repeated his sister, her teeth chattering with emotion.<br>
In spite of Katherine’s rebellion, Godfrey Monk loved her still as the apple of his eye; and it was only his obstinate temper which had kept him from reconciliation. His face took a hue of terror, and his voice a softer tone.<br>
“What have you heard?”<br>
“Her baby’s born; something has gone wrong, I suppose, and she is dying. Sally ran up with the news, sent by Mr. Speck. Katherine is crying aloud for you, saying she cannot die without your forgiveness. Oh, Godfrey, you will go, you will surely go!” pleaded Mrs. Carradyne, breaking down with a burst of tears, “Poor Katherine!”<br>
Never another word spoke he. He went out at the hall-door there and then, putting on his hat as he leaped down the steps. It was a wretched night; not white, clear, and cold as the last New Year’s Eve had been, or mild and genial as the one before it; but damp, raw, misty.<br>
“You think I have remained hard and defiant, father,” Katherine whispered to him, “but I have many a time asked God’s forgiveness on my bended knees; and I longed—oh, how I longed!—to ask yours. What should we all do with the weight of sin that lies on us when it comes to such an hour as this, but for Jesus Christ for God’s wonderful mercy!”<br>
And, with one hand in her father’s and the other in her husband’s, both their hearts aching to pain, and their eyes wet with bitter tears, poor Katherine’s soul passed away.<br>
After quitting the parsonage, Captain Monk was softly closing the garden gate behind him—for when in sorrow we don’t do things with a rush and a bang—when a whirring sound overhead caused him to start. Strong, hardened man though he was, his nerves were unstrung tonight in company with his heartstrings. It was the church clock preparing to strike twelve. The little doctor. Speck, who had left the house but a minute before, was standing at the churchyard fence close by, his arms leaning on the rails, probably ruminating sadly on what had just occurred. Captain Monk halted beside him in silence, while the clock struck.<br>
As the last stroke vibrated on the air, telling the knell of the old year, the dawn of the new, another sound began.<br>
Ring, ring, ring! Ring, ring, ring!<br>
The chimes! The sweet, soothing, melodious chimes, carolling forth The Bay of Biscay. Very pleasant were they in themselves to the ear. But—did they fall pleasantly on Captain Monk’s? It may be, not. It may be, a wish came over him that he had never thought of instituting them. But for doing that, the ills of his recent life had never had place. George West’s death would not have lain at his door, or room been made by it for Tom Dancox, and Katherine would not be lying as he had now left her—cold and lifeless.<br>
“Could nothing have been done to save her, Speck?” he whispered to the doctor, whose arms were still on the churchyard railings, listening to the chimes in silence—though indeed he had asked the same question indoors before.<br>
“Nothing; or you may be sure, sir, it would have been,” answered Mr. Speck. “Had all the medical men in Worcestershire been about her, they could not have saved her any more than I could. These unfortunate cases happen now and then,” sighed he, “showing us how powerless we really are.”<br>
Well, it was grievous news wherewith to startle the parish. And Mrs. Carradyne, a martyr to belief in ghosts and omens, grew to dread the chimes with a nervous and nameless dread.
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