June 9, 2025 • 18 mins
Delve into an enchanting world of romance and mystery with Late Tenant. This early masterpiece by esteemed British journalist and author Louis Tracy, penning as Gordon Holmes, is sure to captivate you. Known for his thrilling mysteries such as The Albert Gate Mystery and The Postmaster’s Daughter, Tracy dabbles in the romantic genre with a touch of the supernatural. The story weaves together two intense love narratives - one heart-wrenching, the other just beginning - amidst a puzzling mystery. Find a dash of classic British humor and a hint of the supernatural in this engaging tale. - Summary by Kirsten Wever.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter fourteen of The Late Tenant by Gordon Holmes. This
LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Diary for
some time after the disappearance of Violet, David needed the
focusing of all his manhood to set himself to work.
His feeling was that nothing is worth while. He wished
(00:23):
to sit in his easy chair, stare, and be vaguely
conscious of the coming and going of his charwoman, an
old Londoner. Now he no longer heard the roar, nor
stifled at the smoke of that torrent that goes up forever.
He could have sat over his fire in a sort
of abstract state, without thought, hope or care for days.
(00:49):
If he took up the pen, he groaned. But he
did take it up, and it proved medicinal. Little by
little he acquired a tone. Mean time, he would often
re read the note which had had so powerful an
effect on him, until one day, in the ripening of
his mind, the thought rose in him, there's something queer here.
(01:14):
She must have been very agitated when she wrote this.
Then he began to think that it was not quite
like Violet's writing. Presently, hope, energy action burst into blossom
afresh with him suppose he thought that the whole business
was somehow a trick of that man. Suppose that she
(01:36):
was in London all the time. He wrote to her
at Porchester Gardens that day, but received no answer. Van
Hupfeldt had given orders that all letters for the Mordaunt
should be sent to him, Nor did he send on
David's letter to Violet, for he knew David's writing. Moreover,
(01:57):
he had warned the proprietors at Porchester Gardens that a
certain man who was likely to make himself troublesome to
the Mordaunt might present himself there in the hope of
learning their address in the country, in view of which
they had better give the address to no one. Now.
At David's only meeting with Violet at the grave, she
(02:21):
had mentioned to him her country address, But having heard
it only once, and that heedlessly, when his brain was
full of new notions, it had so far passed out
of his mind in the course of time that all
that he could remember of it was that it was
in Warkshire. Nor could any racking of his brains bring
(02:43):
back more of it than the name of the county.
After some days he betook himself to Porchester gardens. Is
Missus Mordaunt at home? He asked? No, was the answer.
She isn't staying here now, She's in the country. That
much then of the note found on the grave was true?
(03:04):
When did she go? He asked? Last Tuesday week? Was
the answer? The note was true. I have written miss
Mordaunt a letter, said David, telling her that I have
in my possession something which I know that she would
like to have, and have received no answer. I suppose
(03:24):
you forward her letters on to her. Yes, we send
them to a gentleman who forwards them on. Ah what
gentleman is that? A mister van Hupfeldt. I see, But
can you give me Missus Mordaunt's address. We are not
to give it, but any letters will be sent on
(03:46):
through mister van Hupfeldt. Yes, but suppose I send you
one with a cross on the envelope. Would you do
me the special favor to send that one on direct,
not through mister Vannelt. We have instructions as to the
Mordaunt's letters, said the landlady, and of course we follow
(04:07):
them well. But you seem very inflexible, especially as I
tell you can't help that, sir. We were told that
you would be turning up, and I give you the
answer which I was directed to give. It is quite
useless to come here making any requests as to the Mordaunt.
(04:29):
David went away discomforted. There remained to him one hope, Dibbin.
He ran round to Dibbons and asked for the address.
I'm afraid I'm hardly authorized to do that, answered the
agent to whom such appeals were matters of every day business.
Do be reasonable, urged David. Miss Mordaunt herself gave me
(04:53):
her address, only I have let it slip out of
my mind. Dibbon shook his head like an emblem of doubt.
Of course, he said, I shall be happy to send
on anything which you commit to me direct, asked David,
or through van Hupfeldt. Direct, of course, answered Dibbon. I
(05:14):
have no sort of instructions with respect to mister van Hupfeldt.
Have you ever seen him? Never? Don't happen to know
his address? No? I merely knew his name quite lately
by repute as that of a man of wealth about town,
and as an acquaintance of the Mordaunt. Acquaintance is a
(05:36):
good phrase. David could not help blurting out, well, I
have something belonging to Miss Mordaunt and will send you
a letter to forward. That day, the letter was written
and sent, a stiff, stark, little missive, informing Miss Mordont
that mister Harcourt had duly received the note left on
(05:58):
the grave, and had one once before written to her
to say so, as well as to tell her that
he had in his possession a book which he believed
to be the diary of her sister. He did not
care to send it through another, but would at once
forward it on receiving a line from her. After two
(06:19):
days came in answer. Miss Mordaunt thanked mister Harcourt extremely
for his pains, and would be glad to receive the
book to which he referred at the above address, that
address being the Cedar's bird Lip, Gloucestershire. David actually had
(06:40):
the diary wrapped up to send to this address. Then
he paused. The handwriting of the note was not quite
like that of the note in which she had made
the appointment with him at the grave. It was rather
like the writing of the note which he had found
with the wreath, not quite perhaps the same. And then
(07:02):
again the address which she had given him by word
of mouth that first evening at kensal Green was in Warwickshire.
He remembered that, much beyond doubt was she then spending
some time with friends at the Cedars in Gloucestershire. He
thought that it might be a good thing, before sending
(07:23):
the diary if he took a run down into Gloucestershire
to make sure that she was really there. This he
did the next day, and found that the Cedars was
a mansion two miles from the village of birdlip Old,
somewhat dismantled, shut up, occupied only by a few retainers.
(07:43):
No Violet was there. He learned at one of the
village taverns that the place was the property of Van Hupfeldt.
He took the diary back to London with him that
same night. What seemed certain to him now was that
Van Hupfeldt himself, or some agent of Van Hupfeldt's, must
(08:04):
be in the Mordaunt house, and that this letter sent
through Dibbon had never reached Violet. So again he was
cut off from her. Not one word could he speak
to her. He craved only for one small word. When
that marriage of hers with Van Hupfeldt was to take place,
he did not know, but he felt that it might
(08:27):
be soon. He had taken upon himself to say to
her that it should never be, and not one word
could he utter to prevent it. He had forgotten, and
his brain would not give up its stead. He beat
his brow upon his dining room table when his head
had dropped wearily on his coming home that early morning
(08:50):
from the country, to go to her, to tell her
all to stop the indecent marriage, to cast himself at
her feet, and caught upon her pity for his passionate youth.
This impulse drove him, but he could not stir a step.
A great no bewitched him. His straining was against ropes
(09:14):
of steel. Half thoughts, half inventions of every impossible kind,
passed like smoke through his mind, and went away, and
came wearily again. The only one of any likelihood was
the thought of kneeling to Dibbin, of telling him that
Van Helpfeldt was probably Strauss, and beseeching him, for the
(09:38):
more Dau's sake to give him the address. But he
had not the least faith in the success of such
a thing. To that dried man fossilized all through encrusted
in agency. Anything that implied a new departure, a new
point of view, was a thing impossible. His shake of
(09:58):
the head was as stubborn effect in nature as any
in Andy's. There was only the diary left. The diary
might contain the address. David did not wish to open
those locked thoughts. He had hardly the right, But after
a whole day spent in eyeing the book, he laughed
(10:20):
wildly and decided it was a question of life, of
several lives. He put the book to his lips with
a kiss of desperation, inhaling its faded scent of violence.
That once he rushed out with it to a tradesman
skilled in locks, and was surprised at the ease with
(10:41):
which the man shot back the tiny lever with a
bit of twisted wire. I can make you a key
by the morning, said the man, squinting into lock and
listening to its action as he turned the wire in
his fingers. It is a simple mechanism with two words
meantime here it is opened. He refused even to be
(11:03):
paid for so slight a thing. David handed him a
cigar and ran and was soon deep in it. The
first passage thrilled him as with solemn music, O Silent one,
I must tell my sweets and bitters to you, since
I mayn't to others. You will treasure each syllable and
(11:25):
speak of me as I am nothing extenuate, nor set
down aught in malice. But please, as you are good,
bring not upon me any further declamation of the unhappy
bore Pray Heaven. You may not have to record the
unlucky deeds of one that loved not wisely but too well,
(11:51):
nor your pallid cheeks reveal your grief. Because my subdued eyes,
albeit unused to the melting mood, drop tears as fast
as the Arabian trees their medicinable gum. I was married
last Tuesday. As the carriage rolled back along the sea front,
(12:13):
and my darling husband's arm clasped my waist as tightly
as any silver arm clasps you, little book, the old
jingle came into my head. Monday for health, Tuesday for wealth, Wednesday,
the best day of all The nasty things predicted for
(12:34):
the other days of the week do not matter a jot,
do they. Well? Thank God, I am healthy enough, and
Harry says that we shall have plenty of money by
and by given health and wealth, there remains but happiness,
and that is of our own contriving, and I am
(12:54):
happy of that. There can be no manner of doubt.
Of course, I should have been enjoyed the pomp and
circumstance of marriage in the parish church, with its joy bells,
its laughing tears, its nice speeches, while the dear old
Rector beamed on me, and the good folk of r
set their eyes a goggle to see how I looked,
(13:17):
and how Harry carried himself. I flatter myself. I should
have made a pretty bride. And as for Harry, even
under the chilling influences of a registrar's office, he had
the air of a man who knows his own mind.
How often, tittering at my thoughts have I pictured my
wedding day long before Prince Charving hove in sight, and
(13:42):
how different it all has been to the conceits of girlhood.
When he did come, he hoisted an unknown flag and
bore me off like any pirate. Then references to life
in a hotel not named and the good natured scrutiny
of strangers. Quote who knew us at once as a
(14:04):
newly married couple, though we tried to be off hand
to each other. Later, she described the beginning of housekeeping
in London, where all is so strange. Then a few
phrases which sigh, I have come to hate the word.
Miss Harry says, it will not be long now before
(14:26):
our marriage can be proclaimed. But meantime, I always catch
myself smiling graciously when a shop walker hails me as madam.
There is a recognition in the word. After some days
there was a darker mood. It has given me a
shock to find myself described as domesticated. Harry says that
(14:50):
his influence will quickly bring me to the front, that
I must have patience. That the theatrical world is so compact,
yet so split up in into cliques that were our relationship.
Suspected I should encounter hostility instead of the indifference which
I now resent. So in unamiable mood, I began to
(15:13):
rate my charlady about the dust which gives its brown
tone to London interiors. Thinking that a display of energy
might prove a tonic, I cleared out the dining room
and made things shine. My help raised her eyebrows and
a duster in astonishment. Lor miss she said, you are domesticated.
(15:38):
You must have had a good mother. A good mother.
She didn't know how that word felt, how odiously. Some
of the men speak and gaze. If a woman is attractive,
they ogle her. If she is passee, she is less
than nothing. Men did not talk and leer in that way.
(16:00):
At r did they think? So? I cannot say even
Harry laughed when I lost my temper in describing the
impudence of a young fop who had bought his way
into the chorus. You must get used to that sort
of thing in town, he said, And then bear with
(16:20):
it a little while, sweetheart. Soon the pretense will be ended,
and I shall be only too happy if you have
lost the glamor of the footlights. By that time. It
was no wish of mine that you should become an actress.
That is quite quite true. But I wish now, No,
(16:42):
I don't. I am silly and miserable. Please, Diary, don't
be angry if I weep over you, and if I
write foolish things. Then, some four months after the marriage,
Harry away a whole week. Now telegram from Paris cannot
leave missus s for some time yet he is glad
(17:05):
that I have decided to give up the stage without delay.
So soon, so soon, I am glad to for some reasons,
and sorry for others. Is not that life? In a
few words, creatur dn joan quitagite, buneau de COIs Ville,
toutepland a co de fegemier, toname tacquiete et curaquel pleur,
(17:32):
tonames de mortel ete pleur montarieu. It is strange that
I should regret the passing of the stage, now that
it has become necessary. There I found companionship of a sort.
I shall be so lonely, but not for long. Harry
returns next week, on the tenth. His second message says,
(17:56):
and then I think really that I must begin to
insist on seeing my mother. He can hardly refuse now
to meet her again, though our eyes will be flooded
with tears. And VI, dear, dear VI, will she be
eager to hear all about it? But the reproach in
(18:16):
her eyes? What did she think when she opened that
letter of mine? How she would weep over her old
flighty gwen, oh darling mother, and sweet ever forgiving sister,
How I longed to hold you in my arms. If
Harry only knew you, he would surely trust you, and
(18:38):
then I would not care if the publication of the
marriage was delayed another year. End of Chapter fourteen.
Chapter fourteen of The Late Tenant by Gordon Holmes. This
LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Diary for
some time after the disappearance of Violet, David needed the
focusing of all his manhood to set himself to work.
His feeling was that nothing is worth while. He wished
(00:23):
to sit in his easy chair, stare, and be vaguely
conscious of the coming and going of his charwoman, an
old Londoner. Now he no longer heard the roar, nor
stifled at the smoke of that torrent that goes up forever.
He could have sat over his fire in a sort
of abstract state, without thought, hope or care for days.
(00:49):
If he took up the pen, he groaned. But he
did take it up, and it proved medicinal. Little by
little he acquired a tone. Mean time, he would often
re read the note which had had so powerful an
effect on him, until one day, in the ripening of
his mind, the thought rose in him, there's something queer here.
(01:14):
She must have been very agitated when she wrote this.
Then he began to think that it was not quite
like Violet's writing. Presently, hope, energy action burst into blossom
afresh with him suppose he thought that the whole business
was somehow a trick of that man. Suppose that she
(01:36):
was in London all the time. He wrote to her
at Porchester Gardens that day, but received no answer. Van
Hupfeldt had given orders that all letters for the Mordaunt
should be sent to him, Nor did he send on
David's letter to Violet, for he knew David's writing. Moreover,
(01:57):
he had warned the proprietors at Porchester Gardens that a
certain man who was likely to make himself troublesome to
the Mordaunt might present himself there in the hope of
learning their address in the country, in view of which
they had better give the address to no one. Now.
At David's only meeting with Violet at the grave, she
(02:21):
had mentioned to him her country address, But having heard
it only once, and that heedlessly, when his brain was
full of new notions, it had so far passed out
of his mind in the course of time that all
that he could remember of it was that it was
in Warkshire. Nor could any racking of his brains bring
(02:43):
back more of it than the name of the county.
After some days he betook himself to Porchester gardens. Is
Missus Mordaunt at home? He asked? No, was the answer.
She isn't staying here now, She's in the country. That
much then of the note found on the grave was true?
(03:04):
When did she go? He asked? Last Tuesday week? Was
the answer? The note was true. I have written miss
Mordaunt a letter, said David, telling her that I have
in my possession something which I know that she would
like to have, and have received no answer. I suppose
(03:24):
you forward her letters on to her. Yes, we send
them to a gentleman who forwards them on. Ah what
gentleman is that? A mister van Hupfeldt. I see, But
can you give me Missus Mordaunt's address. We are not
to give it, but any letters will be sent on
(03:46):
through mister van Hupfeldt. Yes, but suppose I send you
one with a cross on the envelope. Would you do
me the special favor to send that one on direct,
not through mister Vannelt. We have instructions as to the
Mordaunt's letters, said the landlady, and of course we follow
(04:07):
them well. But you seem very inflexible, especially as I
tell you can't help that, sir. We were told that
you would be turning up, and I give you the
answer which I was directed to give. It is quite
useless to come here making any requests as to the Mordaunt.
(04:29):
David went away discomforted. There remained to him one hope, Dibbin.
He ran round to Dibbons and asked for the address.
I'm afraid I'm hardly authorized to do that, answered the
agent to whom such appeals were matters of every day business.
Do be reasonable, urged David. Miss Mordaunt herself gave me
(04:53):
her address, only I have let it slip out of
my mind. Dibbon shook his head like an emblem of doubt.
Of course, he said, I shall be happy to send
on anything which you commit to me direct, asked David,
or through van Hupfeldt. Direct, of course, answered Dibbon. I
(05:14):
have no sort of instructions with respect to mister van Hupfeldt.
Have you ever seen him? Never? Don't happen to know
his address? No? I merely knew his name quite lately
by repute as that of a man of wealth about town,
and as an acquaintance of the Mordaunt. Acquaintance is a
(05:36):
good phrase. David could not help blurting out, well, I
have something belonging to Miss Mordaunt and will send you
a letter to forward. That day, the letter was written
and sent, a stiff, stark, little missive, informing Miss Mordont
that mister Harcourt had duly received the note left on
(05:58):
the grave, and had one once before written to her
to say so, as well as to tell her that
he had in his possession a book which he believed
to be the diary of her sister. He did not
care to send it through another, but would at once
forward it on receiving a line from her. After two
(06:19):
days came in answer. Miss Mordaunt thanked mister Harcourt extremely
for his pains, and would be glad to receive the
book to which he referred at the above address, that
address being the Cedar's bird Lip, Gloucestershire. David actually had
(06:40):
the diary wrapped up to send to this address. Then
he paused. The handwriting of the note was not quite
like that of the note in which she had made
the appointment with him at the grave. It was rather
like the writing of the note which he had found
with the wreath, not quite perhaps the same. And then
(07:02):
again the address which she had given him by word
of mouth that first evening at kensal Green was in Warwickshire.
He remembered that, much beyond doubt was she then spending
some time with friends at the Cedars in Gloucestershire. He
thought that it might be a good thing, before sending
(07:23):
the diary if he took a run down into Gloucestershire
to make sure that she was really there. This he
did the next day, and found that the Cedars was
a mansion two miles from the village of birdlip Old,
somewhat dismantled, shut up, occupied only by a few retainers.
(07:43):
No Violet was there. He learned at one of the
village taverns that the place was the property of Van Hupfeldt.
He took the diary back to London with him that
same night. What seemed certain to him now was that
Van Hupfeldt himself, or some agent of Van Hupfeldt's, must
(08:04):
be in the Mordaunt house, and that this letter sent
through Dibbon had never reached Violet. So again he was
cut off from her. Not one word could he speak
to her. He craved only for one small word. When
that marriage of hers with Van Hupfeldt was to take place,
he did not know, but he felt that it might
(08:27):
be soon. He had taken upon himself to say to
her that it should never be, and not one word
could he utter to prevent it. He had forgotten, and
his brain would not give up its stead. He beat
his brow upon his dining room table when his head
had dropped wearily on his coming home that early morning
(08:50):
from the country, to go to her, to tell her
all to stop the indecent marriage, to cast himself at
her feet, and caught upon her pity for his passionate youth.
This impulse drove him, but he could not stir a step.
A great no bewitched him. His straining was against ropes
(09:14):
of steel. Half thoughts, half inventions of every impossible kind,
passed like smoke through his mind, and went away, and
came wearily again. The only one of any likelihood was
the thought of kneeling to Dibbin, of telling him that
Van Helpfeldt was probably Strauss, and beseeching him, for the
(09:38):
more Dau's sake to give him the address. But he
had not the least faith in the success of such
a thing. To that dried man fossilized all through encrusted
in agency. Anything that implied a new departure, a new
point of view, was a thing impossible. His shake of
(09:58):
the head was as stubborn effect in nature as any
in Andy's. There was only the diary left. The diary
might contain the address. David did not wish to open
those locked thoughts. He had hardly the right, But after
a whole day spent in eyeing the book, he laughed
(10:20):
wildly and decided it was a question of life, of
several lives. He put the book to his lips with
a kiss of desperation, inhaling its faded scent of violence.
That once he rushed out with it to a tradesman
skilled in locks, and was surprised at the ease with
(10:41):
which the man shot back the tiny lever with a
bit of twisted wire. I can make you a key
by the morning, said the man, squinting into lock and
listening to its action as he turned the wire in
his fingers. It is a simple mechanism with two words
meantime here it is opened. He refused even to be
(11:03):
paid for so slight a thing. David handed him a
cigar and ran and was soon deep in it. The
first passage thrilled him as with solemn music, O Silent one,
I must tell my sweets and bitters to you, since
I mayn't to others. You will treasure each syllable and
(11:25):
speak of me as I am nothing extenuate, nor set
down aught in malice. But please, as you are good,
bring not upon me any further declamation of the unhappy
bore Pray Heaven. You may not have to record the
unlucky deeds of one that loved not wisely but too well,
(11:51):
nor your pallid cheeks reveal your grief. Because my subdued eyes,
albeit unused to the melting mood, drop tears as fast
as the Arabian trees their medicinable gum. I was married
last Tuesday. As the carriage rolled back along the sea front,
(12:13):
and my darling husband's arm clasped my waist as tightly
as any silver arm clasps you, little book, the old
jingle came into my head. Monday for health, Tuesday for wealth, Wednesday,
the best day of all The nasty things predicted for
(12:34):
the other days of the week do not matter a jot,
do they. Well? Thank God, I am healthy enough, and
Harry says that we shall have plenty of money by
and by given health and wealth, there remains but happiness,
and that is of our own contriving, and I am
(12:54):
happy of that. There can be no manner of doubt.
Of course, I should have been enjoyed the pomp and
circumstance of marriage in the parish church, with its joy bells,
its laughing tears, its nice speeches, while the dear old
Rector beamed on me, and the good folk of r
set their eyes a goggle to see how I looked,
(13:17):
and how Harry carried himself. I flatter myself. I should
have made a pretty bride. And as for Harry, even
under the chilling influences of a registrar's office, he had
the air of a man who knows his own mind.
How often, tittering at my thoughts have I pictured my
wedding day long before Prince Charving hove in sight, and
(13:42):
how different it all has been to the conceits of girlhood.
When he did come, he hoisted an unknown flag and
bore me off like any pirate. Then references to life
in a hotel not named and the good natured scrutiny
of strangers. Quote who knew us at once as a
(14:04):
newly married couple, though we tried to be off hand
to each other. Later, she described the beginning of housekeeping
in London, where all is so strange. Then a few
phrases which sigh, I have come to hate the word.
Miss Harry says, it will not be long now before
(14:26):
our marriage can be proclaimed. But meantime, I always catch
myself smiling graciously when a shop walker hails me as madam.
There is a recognition in the word. After some days
there was a darker mood. It has given me a
shock to find myself described as domesticated. Harry says that
(14:50):
his influence will quickly bring me to the front, that
I must have patience. That the theatrical world is so compact,
yet so split up in into cliques that were our relationship.
Suspected I should encounter hostility instead of the indifference which
I now resent. So in unamiable mood, I began to
(15:13):
rate my charlady about the dust which gives its brown
tone to London interiors. Thinking that a display of energy
might prove a tonic, I cleared out the dining room
and made things shine. My help raised her eyebrows and
a duster in astonishment. Lor miss she said, you are domesticated.
(15:38):
You must have had a good mother. A good mother.
She didn't know how that word felt, how odiously. Some
of the men speak and gaze. If a woman is attractive,
they ogle her. If she is passee, she is less
than nothing. Men did not talk and leer in that way.
(16:00):
At r did they think? So? I cannot say even
Harry laughed when I lost my temper in describing the
impudence of a young fop who had bought his way
into the chorus. You must get used to that sort
of thing in town, he said, And then bear with
(16:20):
it a little while, sweetheart. Soon the pretense will be ended,
and I shall be only too happy if you have
lost the glamor of the footlights. By that time. It
was no wish of mine that you should become an actress.
That is quite quite true. But I wish now, No,
(16:42):
I don't. I am silly and miserable. Please, Diary, don't
be angry if I weep over you, and if I
write foolish things. Then, some four months after the marriage,
Harry away a whole week. Now telegram from Paris cannot
leave missus s for some time yet he is glad
(17:05):
that I have decided to give up the stage without delay.
So soon, so soon, I am glad to for some reasons,
and sorry for others. Is not that life? In a
few words, creatur dn joan quitagite, buneau de COIs Ville,
toutepland a co de fegemier, toname tacquiete et curaquel pleur,
(17:32):
tonames de mortel ete pleur montarieu. It is strange that
I should regret the passing of the stage, now that
it has become necessary. There I found companionship of a sort.
I shall be so lonely, but not for long. Harry
returns next week, on the tenth. His second message says,
(17:56):
and then I think really that I must begin to
insist on seeing my mother. He can hardly refuse now
to meet her again, though our eyes will be flooded
with tears. And VI, dear, dear VI, will she be
eager to hear all about it? But the reproach in
(18:16):
her eyes? What did she think when she opened that
letter of mine? How she would weep over her old
flighty gwen, oh darling mother, and sweet ever forgiving sister,
How I longed to hold you in my arms. If
Harry only knew you, he would surely trust you, and
(18:38):
then I would not care if the publication of the
marriage was delayed another year. End of Chapter fourteen.
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