It was Miss Aldclyffe’s custom, a custom originated by her father, and
nourished by her own exclusiveness, to unlock the post-bag herself every
morning, instead of allowing the duty to devolve on the butler, as
was the case in most of the neighbouring county families. The bag was
brought upstairs each morning to her dressing-room, where she took out
the contents, mostly in the presence of her maid and Cytherea, who
had the entree of the chamber at all hours, and attended there in the
morning at a kind of reception on a small scale, which was held by Miss
Aldclyffe of her namesake only.
Here she read her letters before the glass, whilst undergoing the
operation of being brushed and dressed.
‘What woman can this be, I wonder?’ she said on the morning succeeding
that of the last section. ‘“London, N.!” It is the first time in my
life I ever had a letter from that outlandish place, the North side of
London.’
Cytherea had just come into her presence to learn if there was anything
for herself; and on being thus addressed, walked up to Miss Aldclyffe’s
corner of the room to look at the curiosity which had raised such an
exclamation. But the lady, having opened the envelope and read a few
lines, put it quickly in her pocket, before Cytherea could reach her
side.
‘O, ‘tis nothing,’ she said. She proceeded to make general remarks in
a noticeably forced tone of sang-froid, from which she soon lapsed into
silence. Not another word was said about the letter: she seemed very
anxious to get her dressing done, and the room cleared. Thereupon
Cytherea went away to the other window, and a few minutes later left the
room to follow her own pursuits.
It was late when Miss Aldclyffe descended to the breakfast-table and
then she seemed there to no purpose; tea, coffee, eggs, cutlets, and all
their accessories, were left absolutely untasted. The next that was seen
of her was when walking up and down the south terrace, and round the
flower-beds; her face was pale, and her tread was fitful, and she
crumpled a letter in her hand.
Dinner-time came round as usual; she did not speak ten words, or indeed
seem conscious of the meal; for all that Miss Aldclyffe did in the way
of eating, dinner might have been taken out as intact as it was taken
in.
In her own private apartment Miss Aldclyffe again pulled out the letter
of the morning. One passage in it ran thus:--
‘Of course, being his wife, I could publish the fact, and compel him
to acknowledge me at any moment, notwithstanding his threats, and
reasonings that it will be better to wait. I have waited, and waited
again, and the time for such acknowledgment seems no nearer than at
first. To show you how patiently I have waited I can tell you that not
till a fortnight ago, when by stress of circumstances I had been driven
to new lodgings, have I ever assumed my married name, solely on account
of its having been his request all along that I should not do it. This
writing to you, madam, is my first disobedience, and I am justified in
it. A woman who is driven to visit her husband like a thief in the night
and then sent away like a street dog--left to get up, unbolt, unbar,
and find her way out of the house as she best may--is justified in doing
anything.
‘But should I demand of him a restitution of rights, there would be
involved a publicity which I could not endure, and a noisy scandal
flinging my name the length and breadth of the country.
‘What I still prefer to any such violent means is that you reason with
him privately, and compel him to bring me home to your parish in a
decent and careful manner, in the way that would be adopted by any
respectable man, whose wife had been living away from him for some
time, by reason, say, of peculiar family circumstances which had caused
disunion, but not enmity, and who at length was enabled to reinstate her
in his house.
‘You will, I know, oblige me in this, especially as knowledge of a
peculiar transaction of your own, which took place some years ago, has
lately come to me in a singular way. I will not at present trouble you
by describing how. It is enough, that I alone, of all people living,
know _all the sides of the story_, those from whom I collected it having
each only a partial knowledge which confuses them and points to nothing.
One person knows of your early engagement and its sudden termination;
another, of the reason of those strange meetings at inns and
coffee-houses; another, of what was sufficient to cause all this, and so
on. I know what fits one and all the circumstances like a key, and shows
them to be the natural outcrop of a rational (though rather rash) line
of conduct for a young lady. You will at once perceive how it was that
some at least of these things were revealed to me.
‘This knowledge then, common to, and secretly treasured by us both, is
the ground upon which I beg for your friendship and help, with a feeling
that you will be too generous to refuse it to me.
‘I may add that, as yet, my husband knows nothing of this, neither need
he if you remember my request.’
‘A threat--a flat stinging threat! as delicately wrapped up in words as
the woman could do it; a threat from a miserable unknown creature to an
Aldclyffe, and not the least proud member of the family either! A threat
on his account--O, O! shall it be?’
Presently this humour of defiance vanished, and the members of her body
became supple again, her proceedings proving that it was absolutely
necessary to give way, Aldclyffe as she was. She wrote a short answer
to Mrs. Manston, saying civilly that Mr. Manston’s possession of such
a near relation was a fact quite new to herself, and that she would see
what could be done in such an unfortunate affair.