Showing posts with label Dorwald. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dorwald. Show all posts

05 October 2026

From Tangled Torment to Tepid Romance



Carried by Storm
May Agnes Fleming
New York: Carleton, 1880
400 pages

The first sentence holds a promise of things supernatural:


Miss Ventnor is Olga Ventnor, fairest of all the beautiful women in Carried by Storm. The house, known as 
"the red farm-house," is just one of many rentals on John Abbott's vast estate. His home, "Abbott Wood," is far more lavish:
A grand Elizabethan manor, with turrets, and peaked gables, and quaint, vine-clad stone porches, and painted windows, with stone mullions.
   It is new, and it looks three hundred years old at least, and reflects some of its seeming grandeur and antiquity upon its master, perhaps. And Mr. Abbott needs it. He is painfully new.
A novel could be written about John Abbott.

At first, Carried by Storm looks to be Olga Ventnor's story, reaching back in time to when she was a girl of ten living outside the New England town of Brightbrook. The only child of Colonel Ventnor and his fragile yet exquisite wife Mrs Ventnor, Olga is "the very last daughter of the house, born, if ever embryo belle and heiress was yet, with a golden spoon in her mouth." The colonel is adamant that his inherited riches remain in the family, so arranges for his pre-adolescent daughter to wed her artistic post-adolescent cousin Frank Livingston. Oh, and aren't his parents proud! Says Frank's mother:
"You need never lower your family, nor slave yourself to death painting pictures now, my dearest, dearest boy! Olga Ventnor’s fortune must be simply immense – immense!"
Age eighteen, Frank doesn't take it too seriously:
“All right, mother,” says Frank, still grinning; “and when is it to be – this week or next? Or am I to wait until she grows up? I am on hand always; when you want me please to ring the bell."
Nevertheless, flippant Frank has no issue with being dispatched to Brightbrook for the summer to woo his ten-year-old Olga. Once there, he acts as a babysitter, playing games and drawing pictures to amuse his pretty little cousin.

The following summer is very different. Olga, now eleven, is irritated by Frank. Her cousin doesn't spend nearly as much time with her, breaks promises, and stumbles into Ventnor Villa in the wee hours. Frank tells her that he's been spending time in town when in fact he has been partying down at the red farm-house. Frank is sweet on eighteen-year-old Lora, one of the two shapely dark-haired daughters of violent, ne're-do-well drunk Giles Sleaford. There's music and dancing and lager and whisky and codfish chowder and barbecue rabbit and more lager and more whisky.

A third girl, an awkward twelve-year-old redhead, also lives in the red farm-house. The townsfolk refer to her as "Sleaford's Joanna," taking her to be the man's youngest. The name could not be more appropriate; Sleaford considers her as his property, Sleaford's property, supposedly rescued from a gutter somewhere. Sleaford's Joanna is nothing more than an unpaid servant, a slave, and is beaten daily:
That he has not killed her outright in one of his fits of fury is not due to him, one of the Sleaford boys or girls generally interfering in bare nick of time. Their drudge is useful, they do not want her beaten to death, or the prying eyes of the land brought to bear on their rustic household.
How different her life is from Olga Ventnor's!

Later that same summer, the two girls cross paths in the woods one particularly dark evening Olga is lost and frightened. Seeing Olga, so pretty, her hair so golden, dressed in such fine and expensive clothing, Joanna is consumed by jealousy. That the Ventnor girl, raised in such privilege, is so weak, so helpless, and so fearful breeds hatred.

Twelve-year-old Joanna comes very close to stabbing eleven-year-old Olga to death that night. It's a good thing she doesn't because the woodland encounter sets in motion a series of events that change Joanna's life for the better. Thanks to kindly Geoffrey Lamar, John Abbott's stepson, she receives a private education from Miss Rice, the tutor at Abbott Wood. Leonora Abbott, Geoffrey's dainty, very pretty young half-sister, endears herself to the gutter waif such that Joanna feels no desire to murder her. Mrs Abbott praises Joanna's lovely singing voice and bestows a steady stream of adornments, most of which are appropriated by Lora and her sister Liz. John Abbott avoids her like the plague – which one I'm not sure – but why? Geoffrey and his mother wish Joanna to live with them at Abbott Wood, but Giles Sleaford will not allow it. John Abbott is relieved by the refusal. Again, why? Might the answer also solve the mystery as to why Brightbrook's wealthiest man allows such a disreputable man as Sleaford on his land? Where is Sleaford getting his money from, anyway?

Joanna reaches adulthood, despite all the beatings. Newspaperman George Blake has fallen in love with her, proposes, and suggests they run off to New York to get married. Joanna accepts, but only because she sees elopement as a means of escape.


In 1906, pulp publisher Street & Smith severed Carried by Storm in two, then sold the second half as Love's Dazzling Glitter, "a sequel to Carried by Storm." Being twenty-six years dead, the author had no say in the matter.
  

A very clean cut, I regret to say that it makes perfect sense. Love's Dazzling Glitter opens with a chapter titled a 'The New Life Dawn' ('In Which Joanna Finds Her Fortune' in the original). Here, Joanna, newly arrived in New York, rises and then descends from her rented attic room:


Joanna's new dawn is so bright as to be disappointing. 
She has run away from kind, supportive fiancé George Blake and has taken lodging with washerwoman widow Mrs Gibbs and her shoe-shining son. She has no money, but manages to cover room and board by handing over an expensive crimson wool shawl she'd stolen from Liz. At first, Mrs Gibbs dismisses the young woman as yet another come to New York with dreams of becoming a star of the stage. But Joanna surprises:
“I intend to work,” she says steadily, “there is no kind of housework, I think, I cannot do. I am very strong, and very willing. I can wash, iron, cook – I have done it all my life.”
Joanna never washes, irons or cooks, again.

While ironing, Mrs Gibbs hears Joanna singing to her infant, fatherless daughter and decides that she must introduce her new tenant to Prof Ericson, whose bedding she washes. Not only is Prof Ericson "a teacher of music and singing," his bother is a theatre empresario!

Joanna is an immediate sensation. No longer "Sleaford's Joanna," as "Jenny Wild" she tours North America and Europe, receives a second marriage proposal, inherits a vast estate, and most happily, is reunited with the long-suffering mother she had never known.

Disappointingly, the red farm-house is not haunted. One character is stabbed to death in an upstairs bedroom – no points for guessing who; a half-point for guessing the murderer – but no apparition appears. A weak case may be made that Carried By Storm features something of the supernatural in the form of an otherworldly guiding hand. Might this explain the remarkable series of coincidences in the final chapters? 

Joanna's second marriage proposal comes from Frank Livingston. In a different way, it is also his second marriage proposal – the first was rejected by Cousin Olga. Frank sees Joanna off on another tour and is returning to his studio in Manhattan when a young woman is struck down at his feet by two runaway horses. Though he doesn't recognize her at first, the victim is little Leonora Abbott, now all grown up. In rescuing her, he is reunited with his old friend Geoffrey Lamar... who is now a physician, which is handy considering, you know, his sister. John Abbott now dead, the doctor, his mother, and his sister, abandoned Abbott Wood long ago, having learned that Sleaford's Joanna is the true heir to the man's fortune. They've been searching for her ever since! Frank Livingston brings that hunt to an end. That very same day, Joanna just happens to spot one of Sleaford's sons working for the railroad; it is through him that se learns she is an heiress.

An odd novel from an unconventional novelist, I do recommend Street & Smith's Carried by Storm. Love's Dazzling Glitter is a definite pass. 

Of the eight Fleming novels I've read to date, this is by far the most disappointing; not that this dissuades me from reading the remaining thirty-nine.


Trivia (not really): It is mentioned in passing that Colonel Ventnor (ret'd) "had served with distinction in the far West." Those familiar with the history of the American West in the mid-nineteenth century may take issue.

Object: A well-constructed hardcover purchased two years ago for ten American dollars from a bokseller in New York State. The novel itself is followed by eight pages of publisher adverts for volumes by A.S. Roe, Allan Pinkerton, Augusta J. Evans, Celia E. Gardner, Josh Billings, Julie P. Smith, M.M. Pomeroy, Violet Fane, Miriam Coles Harris, Marion Harlon, Mary J. Holmes, Mrs E.P. Miller, Capt Mayne Reid, and others. Not one name was familiar to this reader, but I am intrigued. Ten May Agnes Fleming novels also feature.

Access: According to Susan Dorward's invaluable 'A Working Bibliography of Texts by May Agnes Fleming,' Carried by Storm was first published in 1878 and 1879 editions of the New York Weekly and the London Journal. It first appeared as a book in 1879, published in New York by Dillingham. My Carleton edition followed the next year. As far as I can tell, Street & Smith's 1906 two volume Carried By Storm/Love's Dazzling Glitter marks the last time the novel was in print.  

Related post;

30 March 2026

The Lady Vanishes (again and again)



Wedded for a Week; or, The Unseen Bridegroom
May Agnes Fleming
London: Milner, [n.d.]
248 pages

We begin on a dark and stormy November night at a ball hosted by Mrs Walraven, matriarch of the New York Walravens, at her Fifth Avenue mansion. Prodigal son Carl is in attendance, having recently returned from two decades spent in parts unknown. A greying thirty-nine-year-old, he still attracts the ladies, and not only because he is sole heir to the Walraven fortune. This Gilded Age-adjacent evening with its alabaster lamps and belles in silk, pearls, and diamonds – so many diamonds – is nearly spoiled by the appearance of a haggard woman dressed in rags, soaked with rain, who insists on speaking with the son of the hostess.

Carl Walraven knows better than to turn her away. This woman, Miriam, whom he'd believed long dead, holds something over him, but what exactly? The more Miriam speaks, the further the mystery grows. This line is key:

"Mary Dane's daughter lives not twenty miles from where we stand. Justice to the dead is beyond the power of even the wealthy Carl Walraven. Justice to the living can yet be rendered, and shall be to the uttermost farthing."

The haggard figure – is "hag" inappropriate? – demands that Carl bring the girl into his home, "educate her, dress her, and treat as your own child."

The second chapter – "Cricket" – finds the Walraven heir seated in a smelly provincial theatre for a performance of Fanchon the Cricket, the lead being played by "distinguished and beautiful young English actress, Miss Mollie Dane."

Carl, who one assumes has been around and has seen a thing or two, finds the sixteen-year-old golden haired actress enchanting:

The stars in the frosty November sky without were not brighter than her dark, bright eyes; no silvery music that the heir of all the Walravens had ever heard was clearer or sweeter than her free, girlish laugh; no golden sunburst ever more beautiful than the waving banner of wild, yellow hair. Mollie Dane stood before him a beauty born.
Mollie Dane's talent and good looks make it all the easier to do as Miriam instructed and treat the girl as his own. Carl pays off theatre manager Mr Harkner, takes her home, and introduces the young actress to his mother: "'Here’s a granddaughter for you, mother,' said Mr. Walraven – 'a companion to cheer and brighten your future life. My adopted daughter – Mollie Dane.'”

The matriarch is pleased. Weeks earlier, she'd been a lonely, old widow; now her newly returned bachelor son has adopted a daughter. No need to ask questions. Besides, young Mollie Dane is so very, very pretty. 

Mollie Dane is also quite the coquette. Be be it on the stage or in the dining room, she really knows how to captivate an audience. Her debut in New York society takes the form of a dinner party at the Fifth Avenue mansion with physician Guy Orleander, the artist Hugh Ingelow, and "eminent young lawyer" Joseph Sardonyx.

Just how young is Joseph Sardonyx? I'd wager he has several more years than Mollie's sixteen.

While male guests fixate on the girl, Carl Walraven has eyes only for Blanche Orleander, the doctor's cousin.

And Blanche Orleander?

All night long, her dark eyes cast daggers at Mollie Dane. 

Is Carl Walraven in love with Blanche? I wasn't convinced, though I understood the attraction. A statuesque, elegant woman, she moves through the novel in the finest silk and satin gowns, and with the greatest poise.

Carl proposes, Blanche accepts, and the two marry quickly in a ceremony marred by the sudden appearance of apparition-like Miriam:

“I forbid the marriage!” exclaimed Miriam. “Clergyman, on your peril you unite those two!”
As it turns out, Miriam had mistakenly thought that Mollie was the bride. Once corrected, the hag apologizes and makes her departure, but not before checking in with Mollie, who assures that "guardy," Carl Walraven, is treateing her like a queen.

Sadly, the marriage between Carl and Blanche never achieves a firm footing. The first misstep belongs to the groom for insisting that his adopted daughter come along on the honeymoon. And so, the trio set out for Washington, DC:
Mr. Walraven had had a surfeit of Europe, and Washington, this sparkling winter weather, was at its gayest and best. The Walraven party, with plethoric purses, plunged into the midst of the gayety at once.
Now, I wouldn't have thought that Washington was all that, but to hear Mollie go on about it New York can't compete:
"I like this sort of thing," said Mollie to her guardian; "the theater, and the opera, and a ball, and two or three parties every night. I like dancing until broad daylight, and going to bed at six in the morning, and getting up to breakfast at one. I like matinees at three in the afternoon, and dinners with seventeen courses, and going to the White House, and shaking hands with the President, and sailing around the East Room, and having people point me out as the beauty of the season. It's new and it's nice, and I never get tired, or pale, or limpy, like most of the girls. I never enjoyed myself so much in my life, and you would say the same thing, guardy, only you're in your honey-moon, and not capable of enjoying anything."
Carl, Blanche, and Mollie are invited to a presidential ball also attended by Sir Roger Trajeuna, a Welsh baronet "worth nobody knows how many millions, and with castles by the dozen in his own land of mountains.”

Sexagenarian Sir Roger is smitten with the sixteen-year-old; so smitten that despite "asthmatic and rheumatic afflictions," he proposes marriage. Mollie is so smitten with the idea of becoming Lady Trajeuna and living in a Welsh castle that she accepts. She then has her hoary-haired fiancé promise to keep the engagement a secret for the time being:

Miss Dane returned to New York "engaged," and with the fact known to none save herself and the enraptured Welshman:
   “There is no need to be in a hurry,” the young lady said to her elderly adorer; “and I want to be safely at home before I overwhelm them with the news. There is always such fussing and talking made over engagements, and an engagement is dreadfully humdrum and dowdyish anyhow.”
   That was what Miss Dane said. What she thought was entirely another matter."
   "I do want Doctor Oleander and Mr. Sardonyx to propose; and if they discover I've accepted the baronet, they won't. I am dying to see the wry faces they will make over 'No, thanks!' Then there is Hugh lngelow–”
The thought of Hugh brings an expression of remorse to Mollie's dark blue eyes: "Ah! what a pity all the nice men, and the handsome men, must be poor!"

Mollie achieves her objective and more on the first evening the  newlywed couple are "at home" in the Fifth Avenue mansion. Blanche is "superb in her bridal robes," but is shown up by Mollie "in shimmering silk that blushed as she walked, and clusters of water-lilies drooping from her tinseled curls."  Before the evening is out, Mollie receives three marriage proposals, the first being from Orleander, then Sardonyx, and then Ingelow. The last is unexpected. Mollie mentions nothing about her betrothal to Sir Roger, instead leads them on, telling each to visit the next morning for her answer. They arrive apart and wait in separate rooms, each unaware that his was not the only marriage proposal. Eventually, the men are ushered into the dining room, where they are surprised to see each other, old Sir Roger, and Mollie. The girl delights in revealing that she'd already agreed to take wealthy Welshman's aged hand in marriage.

The wedding day arrives nearly as quickly as it had for Carl and Blanche. Bridesmaids abound and the reverend and groom await. Mollie is completing her toilette when she receives a letter from an unknown person who offers to reveal the mystery of her origins. All the girl has to do is leave immediately and accompany the mysterious woman who had served as courier. This she does.

At last, we'll know the secret of Mollie Dane and why Carl Walraven adopted her!

Wedded for a Week being my sixth May Agnes Fleming read, this being chapter six of twenty-nine, I knew better than to expect the answer to that mystery in chapter seven. Mrs Fleming's plots are nowhere near so simple. That said, what happened next was entirely unexpected, plunging the story into a deeper hole.

A woman escorts Mollie to a carriage in which sits a man in disguise. The girl is bound, blindfolded, gagged, and whisked off on a nightmarish journey that leads to a silk padded room. Along the way, the disguised man – black mask, faux beard, flowing wig – explains:
"Why this  deception – this abduction? Who am I? Where are you being taken? When are you to be restored to your friends? This is what you would ask, is it not? Very well; now to answer you. What does this mean? Why, it means that you have made an enemy, by your atrocious flirting, of one whom you cruelly and shamefully jilted, who has vowed vengeance, and who knows how to keep that vow. Why this deception – this abduction? Well, without deception it was impossible to get you away, and we know just enough about you to serve our purpose. Miriam never sent that note; but Miriam exists. Who am I? Why, I am that enemy – if one can be your enemy who loves you to madness – a man you cruelly taught to love you, and then scornfully refused. Where are you being taken? To a safe place, my charming Mollie – safe as 'that deepest dungeon beneath the castle moat’ which you have read of. When are you to be restored to your friends? When you have been my wife one week – not an instant sooner.”
Mollie rejects the condition, of course, standing firm until the seventh day, on which the abducted bride and disguised groom are married by an abducted clergyman. A week later, the girl reappears at the Walraven mansion.

The Unseen Bridegroom; or, Wedded for a Week
May Agnes Fleming
Chicago: Donahue, 1895
 
Mollie will disappear again through her longing for the man who abducted her. Absurd, I know, but I found it plausible. This may have something to do with having bought and read The Strange Case of Patty Heart as an eleven-year-old.

The Strange Case of Patty Hearst
John Pascal and Francine Pascal
New York: Signet, 1974
Lest you think that the story ends there – or thereabouts –  I rush to add that Mollie's second disappearance too is an abduction. This time out the abductor disguises himself as the original disguised man. We've now reached midpoint. I don't spoil the plot in revealing that a disguised woman will soon be introduced. Miriam will tell a fantastic story of drunkenness, adultery, and murder that is worthy of a novel itself. One marriage will end in bitterness and betrayal, while another will begin anew. Oh, and Mollie will disappear a third time. Such is the author's talent that the reader gets caught up in it all. The world she creates is real, so real that I finished the book worried for Hugh Ingelow.

Three days later, my concerns remain.

Favourite passage:
Mrs. Walraven descended to breakfast at half past ten, and announced her intention of spending the remainder of the morning shopping.
   Mollie, in a charming demi-toilet, and looking as fresh as though she had not danced incessantly the whole night before, heard the announcement with secret satisfaction.
   “Are you going, too, Mollie?” asked her guardian.
   “No,” said Mollie; “I’m going to stay at home and entertain Sir Roger Trajenna. He is coming to luncheon.”
 “Seems to me, Cricket,” said Mr. Walraven, “Sir Roger Trajenna hangs after you like your shadow. What does it mean?”
   “It means — making your charming ward Lady Trajenna; if he can, of course.”
   “But he’s as old as the hills, Mollie.”
   “Then I’ll be a fascinating young widow all the sooner.”
   “Disgusting!” exclaimed Mrs. Carl Walraven. “You are perfectly heartless, Mollie Dane!”

Trivia I: In my copy, Hugh Ingelow mentions the year as being "eighteen hundred and sixty," yet in the text of the 1895 Donahue edition available here at the Internet Archive and here at Project Gutenberg. Hugh states that the year is "eighteen hundred and ninety." 

The original year suggests the presidential ball attended by Carl Walraven, Blanche Walraven, Mollie Dane, Guy Orleander, Hugh Ingelow, Joseph Sardonyx, and Sir Roger Trajeuna would have been hosted by James Buchanan.

Gee, if only there'd been a White House ballroom.

Trivia II: A second honeymoon is mentioned in the novel, this on the next to last paragraph of he novel. Unlike Carl Walraven and Blanche Orleander, these newlyweds are very much in love. This second couple – no names as I don't want to spoil – take their honeymoon in "the Canadas," a reference to Canada East and Canada West.

Trivia III: Fanchon, the Cricket, the play in which Mollie stars was a real thing. Based on George Sand's 1849 novel Le Petite Fadette, the novel has been adapted to the English-language stage at least three times, once by way of a German adaptation. Hollywood took it on in 1915 with a feature starring Toronto girl Mary Pickford. Of her 245 films, Fanchon, the Cricket was Pickford's favourite as the only one feature her siblings Lottie and Jack. A lost film at the time of her death in 1979, it has since been found and restored. 

Object and Access: An attractive book bound in brown boards. The novel itself is followed by eight pages of Milner's other offerings, including May Agnes Fleming's Heir of Charlton and The Midnight Queen. Also included: Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk. My copy was purchased three year ago from a UK bookseller. Price: £19.00.

It once belonged to Edith Smith of 16 Asylum Street, Leicester. The street has since been renamed Gateway. Her home has since been razed. Though I did go down a bit of a rabbit hole, the only concrete thing I have to add is that the head of the household in 1899 was a man named John Smith.


Sarah Dorwald's invaluable 'Working Bibliography of Texts by May Agnes Fleming' has it that the novel was first published in 1869 as The Unseen Bridegroom; Or, Wedded for a Week by New York publisher Munro. It would seem that American readers knew it only by this title. I expect this Street and Smith undated early twentieth-century paperback edition was the last.


A UK bookseller has a Fair copy of the Milner edition listed online at £20.00. A New York State bookseller is offering a 1895 American edition, this one published by Donahue, priced at US$28.00. A Street and Smith copy is listed on eBay at US$19.95.

Wouldn't you prefer an attractive19th-century copy to a 21st-century print-on-demand monstrosity like this?