“Diana Street, Pimlico, Monday.
“MY DEAR LYDIA--I am in no state of mind to write you an amusing letter.
Your news is very discouraging, and the recklessness of your tone quite
alarms me. Consider the money I have already advanced, and the interests
we both have at stake. Whatever else you are, don’t be reckless, for
Heaven’s sake!
“What can I do? I ask myself, as a woman of business, what can I do to
help you? I can’t give you advice, for I am not on the spot, and I don’t
know how circumstances may alter from one day to another. Situated as we
are now, I can only be useful in one way. I can discover a new obstacle
that threatens you, and I think I can remove it.
“You say, with great truth, that there never was a prospect yet
without an ugly place in it, and that there are two ugly places in your
prospect. My dear, there may be _three_ ugly places, if I don’t bestir
myself to prevent it; and the name of the third place will be--Brock!
Is it possible you can refer, as you have done, to the Somersetshire
clergyman, and not see that the progress you make with young Armadale
will be, sooner or later, reported to him by young Armadale’s friend?
Why, now I think of it, you are doubly at the parson’s mercy! You are
at the mercy of any fresh suspicion which may bring him into the
neighborhood himself at a day’s notice; and you are at the mercy of his
interference the moment he hears that the squire is committing himself
with a neighbor’s governess. If I can do nothing else, I can keep this
additional difficulty out of your way. And oh, Lydia, with what alacrity
I shall exert myself, after the manner in which the old wretch insulted
me when I told him that pitiable story in the street! I declare I tingle
with pleasure at this new prospect of making a fool of Mr. Brock.
“And how is it to be done? Just as we have done it already, to be sure.
He has lost ‘Miss Gwilt’ (otherwise my house-maid), hasn’t he? Very
well. He shall find her again, wherever he is now, suddenly settled
within easy reach of him. As long as _she_ stops in the place, _he_ will
stop in it; and as we know he is not at Thorpe Ambrose, there you are
free of him! The old gentleman’s suspicions have given us a great deal
of trouble so far. Let us turn them to some profitable account at last;
let us tie him, by his suspicions, to my house-maid’s apron-string. Most
refreshing. Quite a moral retribution, isn’t it?
“The only help I need trouble you for is help you can easily give.
Find out from Mr. Midwinter where the parson is now, and let me know
by return of post. If he is in London, I will personally assist my
housemaid in the necessary mystification of him. If he is anywhere else,
I will send her after him, accompanied by a person on whose discretion I
can implicitly rely.
“You shall have the sleeping drops to-morrow. In the meantime, I say at
the end what I said at the beginning--no recklessness. Don’t encourage
poetical feelings by looking at the stars; and don’t talk about the
night being awfully quiet. There are people (in observatories) paid to
look at the stars for you; leave it to them. And as for the night,
do what Providence intended you to do with the night when Providence
provided you with eyelids--go to sleep in it. Affectionately yours,
“MARIA OLDERSHAW.”