The suspicions of Ermengarde

In the mist‑shrouded streets of early twentieth‑century London, a young woman named Ermengarde watches the world from the comfort of her Chesterfield armchair. The novel opens with her wry contemplation of the ever‑present fog that seeps into every corner of Kensington Gardens and, metaphorically, into her own household. As bills pile up—especially the monstrous butcher’s invoice—she feels the strain of maintaining a respectable social façade while yearning for something brighter.

Ermengarde’s quiet domestic routine is soon disrupted by a series of seemingly trivial mishaps: a succession of costly hats, ill‑fitting gowns, and a sharp rebuke from her husband Arthur that leaves a small but growing rift in their marriage. Suspicion and self‑doubt begin to mingle, prompting her to question whether the friction stems from Arthur’s indifference, the pressures of society, or something deeper. The story follows her introspective journey as she navigates love, expectation, and the fog that blurs both reality and desire.