Great Porter Square: A Mystery. v. 2 — Edition Insights

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In Category - Adventure Picaresque Fiction

Authors: Farjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold), 1833-1903 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2013 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Fiction; Detective and mystery stories Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 47,959

Reading time 209 min

Text sections 5

Great Porter Square: A Mystery. v. 2 — Edition Insights can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 47,959 words, 3 hr 29 min estimated reading time, and 5 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 16.4 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #42906

In this second volume of Farjeon's mystery, the narrative shifts between Lydia Holdfast's anxious waiting, Frederick Holdfast's detailed statement, and the volatile courtship of Becky, revealing layered deceptions and contrasting voices.

Editorial Edition Score 4.7/5

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg42906

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THE "EVENING MOON" CONCLUDES ITS NARRATIVE, AND AFFORDS A FURTHER INSIGHT INTO THE CHILD-LIKE AND VOLATILE CHARACTER OF LYDIA HOLDFAST.

In the hope of her husband's return, and looking forward with sweet mysterious delight to the moment when she would hold her baby to her breast, Mrs. Holdfast was a perfectly happy woman--a being to be envied. She had some cause for anxiety in the circumstance that she did not hear from her husband, but she consoled herself with the reflection that his last letter to her afforded a sufficient explanation of his silence. She mentally followed his movements as the days passed by. Some little time would be occupied in settling his son's affairs; the young man most likely died in debt. Mr. Holdfast would not rest satisfied until he had ascertained the exact extent of his unhappy son's liabilities, and had discharged them. With Frederick's death must be cleared away the dishonour of his life.

"Now that he was dead," said the widow, "I was ready to pity and forgive him."

Her baby was born, and her husband had not returned. Day after day she looked for news of him, until she worked herself into a fever of anxiety. The result was that she became ill, and was ordered into the country for fresher air. But she could not rest. Her husband's return appeared to be delayed beyond reasonable limits. Could anything have happened to him in the wild part of the world in which Frederick had met his death? She did not dream that in the tragedy which had occurred in the very heart of London, the murder in Great Porter Square, with which all the country was ringing, lay the answer to her fears. In her delicate state of health she avoided the excitement of the newspapers, and for weeks did not look at one. Thus, when her health was to some extent established, and she had returned to her house in London, she had no knowledge of the murder, and was in ignorance of the few particulars relating to it which the police had been enabled to bring to light. She knew nothing of the arrest of Antony Cowlrick, of the frequent adjournments at the police-court, and of the subsequent release of this man whose movements have been enveloped in so much mystery.

It happened during her illness that a friend, who witnessed the anxiety of her mind and sympathised with her, wrote to America for information concerning Mr. Holdfast, anticipating that the reply to his letter would enable him to communicate good news to her; and it also happened, most singularly, after a lapse of time, that it was to this very friend Mrs. Holdfast appealed for advice as to how she should act.

"I felt as if I was going mad," are the widow's words. "I could endure the terrible suspense no longer."

She called upon her friend, not being aware that he had written to America on her behalf. On the table was a letter with the American post-mark on the envelope, and as her friend, in a hurried manner, rose to receive her, she observed that he placed his hand upon this letter, as though wishing to conceal it from her sight. But her quick eyes had already detected it.

"I did not know," she said, after she had explained the motive of her visit, "that you had correspondence with America."

He glanced at his hand, which still covered the letter, and his face became troubled.

"This," he said, "is in answer to a special letter I sent to the States concerning Mr. Holdfast."

"Ah," she cried, "then I am interested in it!"

"Yes," he replied, "you are interested in it."

Her suspicions were aroused. "Is that the reason," she asked, "why you seek to hide it from me?"

"I would not," he replied, "increase your anxiety. Can you bear a great shock?"

"Anything--anything," she cried, "rather than this terrible torture of silence and mystery!"

"I wrote to America," then said her friend, "to an agent, requesting him to ascertain how and where your husband was. An hour before you entered the room I received his answer. It is here. It will be best to hide nothing from you. I will read what my correspondent says." He opened the letter, and read: "I have made inquiries after Mr. Holdfast, and am informed, upon undoubted authority, that he left America for England some weeks ago."

Mrs. Holdfast's friend read this extract without comment, but Mrs. Holdfast did not appear to realize the true import of the information.

"Do you not understand?" asked her friend. "Mr. Holdfast, some weeks ago, left America for England."

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The second volume of Great Porter Square: A Mystery opens not with a detective but with a newspaper narrative—the “Evening Moon” concluding its account of Lydia Holdfast, a woman described as “child-like and volatile.” Farjeon immediately establishes a tension between public report and private anguish: Lydia, awaiting her husband’s return after the death of his son Frederick, is unaware that the notorious murder in Great Porter Square holds the answer to her fears. The narrative voice here is distanced, almost journalistic, yet it dwells on her “sweet mysterious delight” in impending motherhood and her gradual descent into feverish anxiety. This section sets up a pattern of withheld knowledge and contrasting emotional registers that runs through the volume.

A Child-Like Widow and a Volatile Lover

The “Evening Moon” narrative paints Lydia Holdfast as a figure of poignant innocence: she “did not dream” that the London murder case “with which all the country was ringing” involved her husband. Her avoidance of newspapers in her delicate health becomes a crucial plot mechanism. In sharp contrast, the following chapters introduce Richard Manx making love to “sweet Becky” and Becky giving way to her feelings. Becky’s emotional volatility is set against Lydia’s passive waiting. Farjeon uses these parallel female figures—one secluded and hopeful, the other openly passionate—to explore different responses to crisis. The chapter titles themselves signal a deliberate fragmentation: the newspaper narrative, a love scene, a letter from “Justice,” and then Frederick Holdfast’s lengthy statement. This structure forces the reader to piece together truth from competing accounts.

Frederick Holdfast’s Statement: A Confessional Monologue

Frederick Holdfast’s statement occupies the central portion of the volume, spanning five chapters. It is a first-person account that shifts the narrative into a confessional mode. Frederick describes a “solemn compact” with Adolph to open Sydney’s eyes to “the infamous scheme of which he was the victim.” The language is charged with moral outrage: Frederick speaks of “human treachery” and Sydney’s “intense chivalry.” A key episode involves Sydney defending Grace against a slight at a club, where he “lashed himself into a furious state of indignation” and attacked the character of the gentleman’s female relatives. Frederick’s narration here is self-aware; he compares himself to “an honest Iago,” acknowledging the theatricality of his role. The statement is not a straightforward confession but a performance designed to persuade—both Adolph and the reader.

Roulette, Letters, and the Unreliability of Voices

Farjeon embeds multiple layers of mediation: newspaper reports, personal statements, letters, and dialogue. In one scene, Sydney flourishes a letter from his father expressing sorrow that he is “getting myself talked about in connection with a woman of disgraceful character.” Sydney’s response is a rhapsody of “extravagant adoration” for Grace, insisting that “the prize is worth it.” The chapter then ends with Sydney proposing to “take the bank at roulette”—a gambling metaphor that underscores the risk and deception at the heart of the plot. The juxtaposition of a father’s letter, a lover’s declaration, and a gambling table highlights the instability of truth. Each character’s voice is colored by self-interest or ignorance. The reader, like the characters, must weigh conflicting testimonies without a reliable narrator.

Readers approaching this volume should attend to the shifts in narrative voice—from the detached “Evening Moon” to Frederick’s impassioned statement to the dramatic scenes of courtship and confrontation. Farjeon offers no omniscient guide; instead, he presents a mosaic of partial perspectives. The murder in Great Porter Square remains a distant referent, its details withheld. This volume rewards careful attention to how each character frames their story, and to the gaps between what they say and what they know.

Reading Lydia’s held breath between letters brought back sitting with a novel long past midnight, waiting for a voice to return. The Wizard's Son, Vol. 2 (of 3) — Text and Context once held me in that same patient hush, where every page felt like listening for footsteps on a stair. Some mysteries aren’t about answers, just the ache of the pause.