"What a solemn and mysterious communication," said Lady Waterham,
laughing, as she handed a letter across the breakfast table to her
husband.
"Pooh! my dear, it is some Irish beggar; you had better not see him,"
said his lordship as he rose from the table.
"O scarcely--it would be too impertinent."
The letter ran as follows:--
"The Rev. Cooper Gore Smith presents his compliments to Lady Waterham,
and trusts that she will find it convenient to receive him on Tuesday
morning at about eleven o'clock, when he hopes to have the honour of
waiting on her ladyship.
"The Rev. Cooper Gore Smith's reasons for troubling Lady Waterham can
scarcely be explained in a letter. Suffice it that the affair on which
he is engaged is of considerable importance to those chiefly concerned,
and may even prove not to be without interest for her ladyship.
"_Railway Hotel, Leeds,_
"Sept. 3, 187--."
This the worthy man flattered himself was in his best style. He was
considerably puffed up by the importance of his mission, and, although
he had the wisdom to keep them secret, his aspirations were nearly as
far-reaching as those of Jim himself. To have been the friend and
patron of two long-lost scions of nobility was an idea too romantic and
agreeable not to be dwelt on, even though he reminded himself again and
again that it had probably no foundation. It was, therefore, with no
little self-importance that the note was penned, and in a similar frame
of mind he started for Burnham Park next morning.
Lady Waterham was sitting in the morning-room with her two daughters
when the clergyman was announced.
Lady Eleanor and Lady Constance More were like each other, being both
agreeable-looking, simple, and yet elegant. They seemed about the same
age, and were certainly past their first youth; still they looked
bright and cheerful, and evidently troubled themselves but little about
the advancing years. Lady Waterham was somewhat frigid in her manner,
and as she slightly rose and pointed Mr. Smith to a chair, he became
conscious that he had forgotten the exact words in which he had
intended to commence the conversation. This led to a slight pause, but
having plenty to say, he soon found a way to begin.
"I have ventured to call on your ladyship about two young persons in
whom I am deeply interested, and into whose parentage I am making
inquiries. The story is a romantic one, and will take some little time
to relate----" He was brought to a sudden pause by the cold, inquiring
look of Lady Waterham.
"But I ought to tell your ladyship how I come to call on you."
"Thank you, sir," said her ladyship, drily--she was beginning to
suspect that her husband had been right.
"Well, the fact is," continued Mr. Smith, "the only clue to identity
which we have is this watch, which it appears was purchased by you some
twenty-three years ago at Mr. Turnwell's in Leeds."
Her ladyship was not like her daughters, and scarcely quite relished
being reminded of what happened twenty-three years ago. She took the
watch coldly, and, after looking at it a moment, said--
"Really, sir, I think there must be some mistake. I remember nothing
about this watch. I am sure it was never mine, nor have any of us lost
a watch. I am sorry you should have had so much trouble."
"Excuse me, your ladyship, but it seems almost certain that the watch
was bought on your account. I have seen the entry in Messrs.
Turnwell's books, from which this is a copy."
"This is very strange," said Lady Waterham, as she read the memorandum.
"L7 10s. it cost, I see."
"When was it, mamma?" asked Lady Eleanor, looking up for the first time.
"The 18th of April, 185--."
"O mamma, I know! It must be the watch we gave to dear Elsie before
she was married. You remember the marriage was in May, and that was
the year I am sure. I was just fourteen."
"Fourteen and twenty-three are thirty-seven," said the Rev. Cooper
Smith to himself, as he looked at the still fresh and eager face.
"Poor dear Elsie! what has become of her? Do you know her, sir?" she
continued, turning to the clergyman.
"The girl on whose behalf I am inquiring is called Elsie, and it seems
probable she was your friend's daughter."
"I must tell you, sir, who _our Elsie_ was," said her ladyship, who had
caught and did not like the word "friend." "She had been my maid; but
we found her so conscientious, nice-mannered, and well-informed, that
she almost occupied the position of nursery governess to the younger
children. We were all very much attached to her, and when she married
we gave her a watch, which Lady Eleanor supposes must be the same as
this. The marriage was not a happy one, and we opposed it as long as
we could. After some time she went to India, and thence I think to
China, with her husband. For many years we have heard nothing of her,
though I think we fancied we saw his name among those lost in a
terrible shipwreck some years ago. It was a sad story altogether.
Poor Elsie! Do you remember how anxious we used to be about her,
girls?"
"It was only the other day I was thinking of her, and wondering what
had become of the little baby. You know I was its god-mother, and she
was called after me."
"Yes, indeed, I had forgotten," said Lady Waterham; "but perhaps, sir,
you would kindly tell us what you know about our former protégée."
Mr. Smith told the sad tale with which our readers are acquainted as
briefly as he could. At the end there was a pause, and then her
ladyship said--
"Poor foolish girl! She would not take my advice, and I foresaw that
her end would not be happy."
"Our poor dear Elsie!" said Lady Constance, her eyes overflowing. "It
was a sad day for her when she first saw that horrid man Damer; her
head was quite turned afterwards."
"At all events my baby godchild is living, and a credit to me
apparently," said Lady Eleanor.
"And the boy?" said the clergyman.
There was a pause. The Ladies Constance and Eleanor looked at each
other, and then at their mother.
"I have not mentioned the boy," said her ladyship; "but that is the
most painful part of the subject. He is not Elsie's brother at all;
and what is worse, it was never exactly known who he was. About four
months after the marriage a poor woman came to the village. She said
her name was Damer, and inquired for Elsie's husband. He was very much
put out by her appearance, but at once took a lodging for her, where
the poor thing had a baby, and died immediately after. Damer said the
woman was his only sister, and accordingly that he must take the child.
At the time Elsie seemed to have no doubts, but every one else talked
about it. Some said the woman was his wife, and others--you can
imagine what they said. Shortly after that they left the
neighbourhood, and we never saw Elsie again. Her husband, I must tell
you, was a mechanical engineer, and considered an excellent workman.
He got a capital appointment in India after he left Leeds, and Elsie
wrote to tell us she was going with him. It was then I so strongly
urged her to stay at home with the children; but she would not be
guided, and merely wrote to say she had placed them with some people in
the north of Ireland, where, I think, she came from herself."
"I fancy," said Lady Eleanor, "I have some of her letters still. You
remember, mamma, they were imprisoned in China, with a number of other
English people, for ever so long. It was after they were released that
we had the last letter (which I am sure I kept), saying that she was
coming home. We did not know at the time whether she meant _alone_ or
not; and then when we saw Edgar Damer's name among the people lost in
that vessel--I forget its name--we concluded that she must have gone on
before."
Thus piecing together the broken memories of the past, the morning went
by. The Rev. Cooper Smith stayed to luncheon, and in the course of
conversation various confirmatory incidents came out. The miniature in
the locket was at once recognised, and it appeared that the locket
itself had been the special gift of little Lady Eleanor. A more
careful comparison of dates proved quite satisfactory, showing, among
other things, that the body had been found at Tor Bay just four months
after the date of the letter which Lady Eleanor had succeeded in
finding, and in which Elsie said she was to start in a few days, and
would be nearly four months on the voyage. "My first visit will be to
the glens, and then I shall try to go over and see you. I have so much
to tell, and to ask your kind advice about. I am unhappy and anxious,
and feel somehow as if I would never see either my child or you, though
I am writing about it. It is so long since we have heard of anybody,
we seem to have been dead, as it were."
Having returned to his hotel, the clergyman made some brief notes of
the story that had thus providentially been brought to light. He did
not know whether to feel pleasure or disappointment. He was glad to
have the mystery cleared up; glad, too, to find that Elsie had had so
sweet a mother, and was likely to have such kind and liberal friends.
Yet he could not but feel sorry for the collapse that was awaiting
Jim's castle in the air. It would be a bitter trial for him, and he
knew not how Jim would bear it. Mr. Smith was somewhat puzzled,
moreover, what to do himself. He had promised to write to the
expectant Jim; but now he could not bring himself to do so. His own
holiday would not expire for a fortnight, and he was naturally
reluctant to return home sooner than was necessary. While debating
what was best to be done, a telegram was put into his hand. It was
from the irrepressible and anxious Jim. "Please telegraph results
obtained immediately. Reply paid for." "The fool!" muttered Mr.
Smith; and, yielding to a sudden irritation, he filled up the reply for
which the boy was waiting:
"All clear enough, but quite unsatisfactory as far as you are
concerned."
It was a cruel blow, and no sooner was it dealt than he was sorry for
it. He resolved to write to the poor lad, and, finding an invitation
to dine at Burnham Park, which had first to be accepted, he sat down,
well pleased with himself and all the world. The letter to Jim was
kindly. The whole truth was not told, but it was announced that Jim
and Elsie were no connections of the Waterham family. All else was
reserved for verbal explanation.
The dinner at Burnham was pleasant enough. The earl was affable, and
after dinner had several reminiscences of that "clever dog Damer" to
tell, which did not raise his character in the clergyman's estimation.
When about to leave, Lady Eleanor handed him a note for Elsie, adding--
"I do wish so she would come over and see us! Of course I should
gladly pay all her expenses."
The Rev. Cooper Smith left Leeds next morning quite satisfied with
himself, and, having written a long letter to Hendrick, giving a
general idea of his discoveries, he went on his tour with a light heart.