“Ladies’ Toilet Repository, Tuesday.
“MY DEAR LYDIA--It is a thousand pities your letter was not addressed to
Mr. Armadale; your graceful audacity would have charmed him. It doesn’t
affect me; I am so well used to audacity in my way of life, you
know. Why waste your sparkling wit, my love, on your own impenetrable
Oldershaw? It only splutters and goes out. Will you try and be serious
this next time? I have news for you from Thorpe Ambrose, which is beyond
a joke, and which must not be trifled with.
“An hour after I got your letter I set the inquiries on foot. Not
knowing what consequences they might lead to, I thought it safest to
begin in the dark. Instead of employing any of the people whom I have
at my own disposal (who know you and know me), I went to the Private
Inquiry Office in Shadyside Place, and put the matter in the inspector’s
hands, in the character of a perfect stranger, and without mentioning
you at all. This was not the cheapest way of going to work, I own; but
it was the safest way, which is of much greater consequence.
“The inspector and I understood each other in ten minutes; and the right
person for the purpose--the most harmless looking young man you ever saw
in your life--was produced immediately. He left for Thorpe Ambrose an
hour after I saw him. I arranged to call at the office on the afternoons
of Saturday, Monday, and to-day for news. There was no news till to-day;
and there I found our confidential agent just returned to town, and
waiting to favor me with a full account of his trip to Norfolk.
“First of all, let me quiet your mind about those two questions of
yours; I have got answers to both the one and the other. The Blanchard
women go away to foreign parts on the thirteenth, and young Armadale is
at this moment cruising somewhere at sea in his yacht. There is talk
at Thorpe Ambrose of giving him a public reception, and of calling a
meeting of the local grandees to settle it all. The speechifying and
fuss on these occasions generally wastes plenty of time, and the public
reception is not thought likely to meet the new squire much before the
end of the month.
“If our messenger had done no more for us than this, I think he would
have earned his money. But the harmless young man is a regular Jesuit at
a private inquiry, with this great advantage over all the Popish priests
I have ever seen, that he has not got his slyness written in his face.
“Having to get his information through the female servants in the usual
way, he addressed himself, with admirable discretion, to the ugliest
woman in the house. ‘When they are nice-looking, and can pick and
choose,’ as he neatly expressed it to me, ‘they waste a great deal
of valuable time in deciding on a sweetheart. When they are ugly,
and haven’t got the ghost of a chance of choosing, they snap at a
sweetheart, if he comes their way, like a starved dog at a bone.’ Acting
on these excellent principles, our confidential agent succeeded, after
certain unavoidable delays, in addressing himself to the upper housemaid
at Thorpe Ambrose, and took full possession of her confidence at
the first interview. Bearing his instructions carefully in mind, he
encouraged the woman to chatter, and was favored, of course, with all
the gossip of the servants’ hall. The greater part of it (as repeated
to me) was of no earthly importance. But I listened patiently, and was
rewarded by a valuable discovery at last. Here it is.
“It seems there is an ornamental cottage in the grounds at Thorpe
Ambrose. For some reason unknown, young Armadale has chosen to let it,
and a tenant has come in already. He is a poor half-pay major in the
army, named Milroy, a meek sort of man, by all accounts, with a turn
for occupying himself in mechanical pursuits, and with a domestic
incumbrance in the shape of a bedridden wife, who has not been seen by
anybody. Well, and what of all this? you will ask, with that sparkling
impatience which becomes you so well. My dear Lydia, don’t sparkle! The
man’s family affairs seriously concern us both, for, as ill luck will
have it, the man has got a daughter!
“You may imagine how I questioned our agent, and how our agent ransacked
his memory, when I stumbled, in due course, on such a discovery as
this. If Heaven is responsible for women’s chattering tongues, Heaven
be praised! From Miss Blanchard to Miss Blanchard’s maid; from Miss
Blanchard’s maid to Miss Blanchard’s aunt’s maid; from Miss Blanchard’s
aunt’s maid, to the ugly housemaid; from the ugly housemaid to the
harmless-looking young man--so the stream of gossip trickled into the
right reservoir at last, and thirsty Mother Oldershaw has drunk it all
up.
“In plain English, my dear, this is how it stands. The major’s daughter
is a minx just turned sixteen; lively and nice-looking (hateful little
wretch!), dowdy in her dress (thank Heaven!) and deficient in her
manners (thank Heaven again!). She has been brought up at home. The
governess who last had charge of her left before her father moved to
Thorpe Ambrose. Her education stands woefully in want of a finishing
touch, and the major doesn’t quite know what to do next. None of his
friends can recommend him a new governess and he doesn’t like the
notion of sending the girl to school. So matters rest at present, on
the major’s own showing; for so the major expressed himself at a morning
call which the father and daughter paid to the ladies at the great
house.
“You have now got my promised news, and you will have little difficulty,
I think, in agreeing with me that the Armadale business must be settled
at once, one way or the other. If, with your hopeless prospects, and
with what I may call your family claim on this young fellow, you decide
on giving him up, I shall have the pleasure of sending you the balance
of your account with me (seven-and-twenty shillings), and shall then
be free to devote myself entirely to my own proper business. If, on the
contrary, you decide to try your luck at Thorpe Ambrose, then (there
being no kind of doubt that the major’s minx will set her cap at the
young squire) I should be glad to hear how you mean to meet the double
difficulty of inflaming Mr. Armadale and extinguishing Miss Milroy.
“Affectionately yours,
“MARIA OLDERSHAW.