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Updated: June 17, 2025
Mason Fennell, a friend of Mr. Owain Wythan's. They shouted, in an unseemly way, Queeney thought, at their breakfast-table, to hear that three of the English party, namely, Captain Abrane, Mr. Mallard, and Mr. Potts, had rung for tea and toast in bed.
She had a wild desire to make her excuses and escape from Fennellcourt, but Bob had disappeared, and she gathered that he and Bert were playing off some fabulous wager in the billiard-room. Pleading a headache, she excused herself as soon as she could. "So sorry," said Mrs. Fennell; then, with a knowing laugh: "There's no likelihood of Bob's annoying you for some time. Bertie will see to that."
Within twenty-four hours he had arranged everything not a detail was forgotten. That is how he did things. He set out to find a wife in the same matter-of-fact manner. He met many women; but Lucia Fennell was the only one who set his pulse beating a little faster. He felt it a shame that he should be so weak. They were at a dinner-party at the country home of a mutual friend.
Fennell, who had stepped out of his own room close by, heard him say it. "I do not imagine that Mr. Price is greatly perturbed on that account. He will, no doubt, shortly be forsaking us for literature. What Commerce loses, Art gains," said the G.M. He may have meant to be funny, or he may not. Some of those standing near took him one way, others the other.
John Pollard's wife, Charlotte Maria Fennell, belonged to a family which gave officers to the British Navy one of them serving directly under Nelson and clergy to the Church of England. The Fennells were related to the Bronte sisters through the latter's mother; and one was closely connected with the Shackle who founded the original John Bull newspaper.
Lorelei gave her the name of her tailor. "Really! I never heard of her." Mrs. Fennell smiled and laid a soft hand upon her guest's arm. "Elizabeth Courtenay was frantically jealous of you." "Of me? I don't understand." "She and Bert are great friends and he's gone perfectly daft over you. Why, he's telling everybody."
Leaving these details to the imagination, suffice it to say that Perez' plan, clearly-conceived and executed with prompt, relentless vigor, was perfectly successful, and so noiselessly carried out, that excepting those families whose heads were arrested by the soldiers, the village as a whole, had no suspicion that anything in particular was going on, until waking up the next morning, the people found squads of armed men on guard at the street corners, and sentinels pacing up and down before the Fennell house, that building left vacant by Gleason's ejection, having been selected by Perez for the storage of his prisoners and the stores he had confiscated.
That night, Perez set a guard of a dozen men at the Fennell house, to secure the town military stores against any possibility of recapture by another silk stocking conspiracy, and to still further protect the community against any violent enterprise, he organized a regular patrol for the night.
Fennell's gaze hardened; she stiffened herself, saying coldly: "Why, certainly, if you insist upon rousing the whole household; but he's in no condition to understand this silly affair. You might have SOME consideration for us." "Sure!" echoed the husband. "Go to sleep and forget it. Don't spoil the party." "You realize we have other guests?" snapped Mrs. Fennell.
Courteous, kindly, of quiet demeanor and soft words, he was known and loved by thousands of travelers. When the English firm, A. Gibson & Co.9 of Liverpool, purchased the American clipper, Senator Weber, in 1869, Captain Smith, then a boy, sailed on her. For seven years he was an apprentice on the Senator Weber, leaving that vessel to go to the Lizzie Fennell, a square rigger, as fourth officer.
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