The morning of the interview between Mrs. Milroy and her daughter at the
cottage was a morning of serious reflection for the squire at the great
house.
Even Allan’s easy-tempered nature had not been proof against the
disturbing influences exercised on it by the events of the last three
days. Midwinter’s abrupt departure had vexed him; and Major Milroy’s
reception of his inquiries relating to Miss Gwilt weighed unpleasantly
on his mind. Since his visit to the cottage, he had felt impatient and
ill at ease, for the first time in his life, with everybody who came
near him. Impatient with Pedgift Junior, who had called on the previous
evening to announce his departure for London, on business, the next day,
and to place his services at the disposal of his client; ill at ease
with Miss Gwilt, at a secret meeting with her in the park that morning;
and ill at ease in his own company, as he now sat moodily smoking in
the solitude of his room. “I can’t live this sort of life much longer,”
thought Allan. “If nobody will help me to put the awkward question to
Miss Gwilt, I must stumble on some way of putting it for myself.”
What way? The answer to that question was as hard to find as ever. Allan
tried to stimulate his sluggish invention by walking up and down the
room, and was disturbed by the appearance of the footman at the first
turn.
“Now then! what is it?” he asked, impatiently.
“A letter, sir; and the person waits for an answer.”
Allan looked at the address. It was in a strange handwriting. He opened
the letter, and a little note inclosed in it dropped to the ground.
The note was directed, still in the strange handwriting, to “Mrs.
Mandeville, 18 Kingsdown Crescent, Bayswater. Favored by Mr. Armadale.”
More and more surprised, Allan turned for information to the signature
at the end of the letter. It was “Anne Milroy.”
“Anne Milroy?” he repeated. “It must be the major’s wife. What can she
possibly want with me?” By way of discovering what she wanted, Allan
did at last what he might more wisely have done at first. He sat down to
read the letter.
[“Private.”] “The Cottage, Monday.
“DEAR SIR--The name at the end of these lines will, I fear, recall to
you a very rude return made on my part, some time since, for an act of
neighborly kindness on yours. I can only say in excuse that I am a
great sufferer, and that, if I was ill-tempered enough, in a moment of
irritation under severe pain, to send back your present of fruit, I have
regretted doing so ever since. Attribute this letter, if you please, to
my desire to make some atonement, and to my wish to be of service to our
good friend and landlord, if I possibly can.
“I have been informed of the question which you addressed to my husband,
the day before yesterday, on the subject of Miss Gwilt. From all I have
heard of you, I am quite sure that your anxiety to know more of this
charming person than you know now is an anxiety proceeding from the most
honorable motives. Believing this, I feel a woman’s interest--incurable
invalid as I am--in assisting you. If you are desirous of becoming
acquainted with Miss Gwilt’s family circumstances without directly
appealing to Miss Gwilt herself, it rests with you to make the
discovery; and I will tell you how.
“It so happens that, some few days since, I wrote privately to Miss
Gwilt’s reference on this very subject. I had long observed that my
governess was singularly reluctant to speak of her family and her
friends; and, without attributing her silence to other than perfectly
proper motives, I felt it my duty to my daughter to make some inquiry on
the subject. The answer that I have received is satisfactory as far as
it goes. My correspondent informs me that Miss Gwilt’s story is a very
sad one, and that her own conduct throughout has been praiseworthy in
the extreme. The circumstances (of a domestic nature, as I gather) are
all plainly stated in a collection of letters now in the possession of
Miss Gwilt’s reference. This lady is perfectly willing to let me see
the letters; but not possessing copies of them, and being personally
responsible for their security, she is reluctant, if it can be avoided,
to trust them to the post; and she begs me to wait until she or I can
find some reliable person who can be employed to transmit the packet
from her hands to mine.
“Under these circumstances, it has struck me that you might possibly,
with your interest in the matter, be not unwilling to take charge of the
papers. If I am wrong in this idea, and if you are not disposed, after
what I have told you, to go to the trouble and expense of a journey to
London, you have only to burn my letter and inclosure, and to think no
more about it. If you decide on becoming my envoy, I gladly provide you
with the necessary introduction to Mrs. Mandeville. You have only, on
presenting it, to receive the letters in a sealed packet, to send
them here on your return to Thorpe Ambrose, and to wait an early
communication from me acquainting you with the result.
“In conclusion, I have only to add that I see no impropriety in your
taking (if you feel so inclined) the course that I propose to you. Miss
Gwilt’s manner of receiving such allusions as I have made to her family
circumstances has rendered it unpleasant for me (and would render it
quite impossible for you) to seek information in the first instance from
herself. I am certainly justified in applying to her reference; and you
are certainly not to blame for being the medium of safely transmitting
a sealed communication with one lady to another. If I find in that
communication family secrets which cannot honorably be mentioned to any
third person, I shall, of course, be obliged to keep you waiting until
I have first appealed to Miss Gwilt. If I find nothing recorded but
what is to her honor, and what is sure to raise her still higher in your
estimation, I am undeniably doing her a service by taking you into my
confidence. This is how I look at the matter; but pray don’t allow me to
influence _you_.
“In any case, I have one condition to make, which I am sure you will
understand to be indispensable. The most innocent actions are liable,
in this wicked world, to the worst possible interpretation I must,
therefore, request that you will consider this communication as strictly
_private_. I write to you in a confidence which is on no account (until
circumstances may, in my opinion, justify the revelation of it) to
extend beyond our two selves,
“Believe me, dear sir, truly yours,
“ANNE MILROY.”
In this tempting form the unscrupulous ingenuity of the major’s wife
had set the trap. Without a moment’s hesitation, Allan followed his
impulses, as usual, and walked straight into it, writing his answer and
pursuing his own reflections simultaneously in a highly characteristic
state of mental confusion.
“By Jupiter, this is kind of Mrs. Milroy!” (“My dear madam.”) “Just the
thing I wanted, at the time when I needed it most!” (“I don’t know how
to express my sense of your kindness, except by saying that I will go
to London and fetch the letters with the greatest pleasure.”) “She shall
have a basket of fruit regularly every day, all through the season.” (“I
will go at once, dear madam, and be back to-morrow.”) “Ah, nothing like
the women for helping one when one is in love! This is just what my poor
mother would have done in Mrs. Milroy’s place.” (“On my word of honor
as a gentleman, I will take the utmost care of the letters; and keep
the thing strictly private, as you request.”) “I would have given five
hundred pounds to anybody who would have put me up to the right way
to speak to Miss Gwilt; and here is this blessed woman does it
for nothing.” (“Believe me, my dear madam, gratefully yours, Allan
Armadale.”)
Having sent his reply out to Mrs. Milroy’s messenger, Allan paused in a
momentary perplexity. He had an appointment with Miss Gwilt in the park
for the next morning. It was absolutely necessary to let her know that
he would be unable to keep it. She had forbidden him to write, and
he had no chance that day of seeing her alone. In this difficulty, he
determined to let the necessary intimation reach her through the medium
of a message to the major, announcing his departure for London on
business, and asking if he could be of service to any member of the
family. Having thus removed the only obstacle to his freedom of action,
Allan consulted the time-table, and found, to his disappointment, that
there was a good hour to spare before it would be necessary to drive to
the railway station. In his existing frame of mind he would infinitely
have preferred starting for London in a violent hurry.
When the time came at last, Allan, on passing the steward’s office,
drummed at the door, and called through it to Mr. Bashwood, “I’m going
to town; back to-morrow.” There was no answer from within; and the
servant, interposing, informed his master that Mr. Bashwood, having no
business to attend to that day, had locked up the office, and had left
some hours since.
On reaching the station, the first person whom Allan encountered was
Pedgift Junior, going to London on the legal business which he had
mentioned on the previous evening at the great house. The necessary
explanations exchanged, and it was decided that the two should travel
in the same carriage. Allan was glad to have a companion; and Pedgift,
enchanted as usual to make himself useful to his client, bustled away
to get the tickets and see to the luggage. Sauntering to and fro on the
platform, until his faithful follower returned, Allan came suddenly upon
no less a person than Mr. Bashwood himself, standing back in a corner
with the guard of the train, and putting a letter (accompanied, to all
appearance, by a fee) privately into the man’s hand.
“Halloo!” cried Allan, in his hearty way. “Something important there,
Mr. Bashwood, eh?”
If Mr. Bashwood had been caught in the act of committing murder, he
could hardly have shown greater alarm than he now testified at Allan’s
sudden discovery of him. Snatching off his dingy old hat, he bowed
bare-headed, in a palsy of nervous trembling from head to foot. “No,
sir--no, sir; only a little letter, a little letter, a little letter,”
said the deputy-steward, taking refuge in reiteration, and bowing
himself swiftly backward out of his employer’s sight.
Allan turned carelessly on his heel. “I wish I could take to that
fellow,” he thought, “but I can’t; he’s such a sneak! What the deuce was
there to tremble about? Does he think I want to pry into his secrets?”
Mr. Bashwood’s secret on this occasion concerned Allan more nearly than
Allan supposed. The letter which he had just placed in charge of
the guard was nothing less than a word of warning addressed to Mrs.
Oldershaw, and written by Miss Gwilt.
“If you can hurry your business” (wrote the major’s governess) “do so,
and come back to London immediately. Things are going wrong here, and
Miss Milroy is at the bottom of the mischief. This morning she insisted
on taking up her mother’s breakfast, always on other occasions taken up
by the nurse. They had a long confabulation in private; and half an hour
later I saw the nurse slip out with a letter, and take the path that
leads to the great house. The sending of the letter has been followed
by young Armadale’s sudden departure for London--in the face of an
appointment which he had with me for to-morrow morning. This looks
serious. The girl is evidently bold enough to make a fight of it for the
position of Mrs. Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose, and she has found out some
way of getting her mother to help her. Don’t suppose I am in the least
nervous or discouraged, and don’t do anything till you hear from me
again. Only get back to London, for I may have serious need of your
assistance in the course of the next day or two.
“I send this letter to town (to save a post) by the midday train, in
charge of the guard. As you insist on knowing every step I take at
Thorpe Ambrose, I may as well tell you that my messenger (for I can’t go
to the station myself) is that curious old creature whom I mentioned
to you in my first letter. Ever since that time he has been perpetually
hanging about here for a look at me. I am not sure whether I frighten
him or fascinate him; perhaps I do both together. All you need care to
know is that I can trust him with my trifling errands, and possibly, as
time goes on, with something more. L. G.”
Meanwhile the train had started from the Thorpe Ambrose station, and the
squire and his traveling companion were on their way to London.
Some men, finding themselves in Allan’s company under present
circumstances, might have felt curious to know the nature of his
business in the metropolis. Young Pedgift’s unerring instinct as a man
of the world penetrated the secret without the slightest difficulty.
“The old story,” thought this wary old head, wagging privately on its
lusty young shoulders, “There’s a woman in the case, as usual. Any other
business would have been turned over to me.” Perfectly satisfied with
this conclusion, Mr. Pedgift the younger proceeded, with an eye to his
professional interest, to make himself agreeable to his client in the
capacity of volunteer courier. He seized on the whole administrative
business of the journey to London, as he had seized on the whole
administrative business of the picnic at the Broads. On reaching the
terminus, Allan was ready to go to any hotel that might be recommended.
His invaluable solicitor straight-way drove him to a hotel at which the
Pedgift family had been accustomed to put up for three generations.
“You don’t object to vegetables, sir?” said the cheerful Pedgift, as
the cab stopped at a hotel in Covent Garden Market. “Very good; you may
leave the rest to my grandfather, my father, and me. I don’t know which
of the three is most beloved and respected in this house. How d’ye do,
William? (Our head-waiter, Mr. Armadale.) Is your wife’s rheumatism
better, and does the little boy get on nicely at school? Your master’s
out, is he? Never mind, you’ll do. This, William, is Mr. Armadale of
Thorpe Ambrose. I have prevailed on Mr. Armadale to try our house. Have
you got the bedroom I wrote for? Very good. Let Mr. Armadale have it
instead of me (my grandfather’s favorite bedroom, sir; No. 57, on the
second floor); pray take it; I can sleep anywhere. Will you have the
mattress on the top of the feather-bed? You hear, William? Tell Matilda,
the mattress on the top of the feather-bed. How is Matilda? Has she got
the toothache, as usual? The head-chambermaid, Mr. Armadale, and a most
extraordinary woman; she will _not_ part with a hollow tooth in her
lower jaw. My grandfather says, ‘Have it out;’ my father says, ‘Have it
out;’ I say, ‘Have it out;’ and Matilda turns a deaf ear to all three of
us. Yes, William, yes; if Mr. Armadale approves, this sitting-room will
do. About dinner, sir? Shall we say, in that case, half-past seven?
William, half-past seven. Not the least need to order anything, Mr.
Armadale. The head-waiter has only to give my compliments to the cook,
and the best dinner in London will be sent up, punctual to the minute,
as a necessary consequence. Say, Mr. Pedgift Junior, if you please,
William; otherwise, sir, we might get my grandfather’s dinner or my
father’s dinner, and they _might_ turn out a little too heavy and
old-fashioned in their way of feeding for you and me. As to the wine,
William. At dinner, _my_ Champagne, and the sherry that my father thinks
nasty. After dinner, the claret with the blue seal--the wine my innocent
grandfather said wasn’t worth sixpence a bottle. Ha! ha! poor old boy!
You will send up the evening papers and the play-bills, just as usual,
and--that will do? I think, William, for the present. An invaluable
servant, Mr. Armadale; they’re all invaluable servants in this house. We
may not be fashionable here, sir, but by the Lord Harry we are snug! A
cab? you would like a cab? Don’t stir! I’ve rung the bell twice--that
means, Cab wanted in a hurry. Might I ask, Mr. Armadale, which way your
business takes you? Toward Bayswater? Would you mind dropping me in the
park? It’s a habit of mine when I’m in London to air myself among the
aristocracy. Yours truly, sir, has an eye for a fine woman and a fine
horse; and when he’s in Hyde Park he’s quite in his native element.”
Thus the all-accomplished Pedgift ran on; and by these little arts did
he recommend himself to the good opinion of his client.
When the dinner hour united the traveling companions again in their
sitting-room at the hotel, a far less acute observer than young Pedgift
must have noticed the marked change that appeared in Allan’s manner.
He looked vexed and puzzled, and sat drumming with his fingers on the
dining-table without uttering a word.
“I’m afraid something has happened to annoy you, sir, since we parted
company in the Park?” said Pedgift Junior. “Excuse the question; I only
ask it in case I can be of any use.”
“Something that I never expected has happened,” returned Allan; “I don’t
know what to make of it. I should like to have your opinion,” he added,
after a little hesitation; “that is to say, if you will excuse my not
entering into any particulars?”
“Certainly!” assented young Pedgift. “Sketch it in outline, sir. The
merest hint will do; I wasn’t born yesterday.” (“Oh, these women!”
thought the youthful philosopher, in parenthesis.)
“Well,” began Allan, “you know what I said when we got to this hotel; I
said I had a place to go to in Bayswater” (Pedgift mentally checked off
the first point: Case in the suburbs, Bayswater); “and a person--that
is to say--no--as I said before, a person to inquire after.” (Pedgift
checked off the next point: Person in the case. She-person, or
he-person? She-person, unquestionably!) “Well, I went to the house,
and when I asked for her--I mean the person--she--that is to say, the
person--oh, confound it!” cried Allan, “I shall drive myself mad, and
you, too, if I try to tell my story in this roundabout way. Here it is
in two words. I went to No. 18 Kingsdown Crescent, to see a lady named
Mandeville; and, when I asked for her, the servant said Mrs. Mandeville
had gone away, without telling anybody where, and without even leaving
an address at which letters could be sent to her. There! it’s out at
last. And what do you think of it now?”
“Tell me first, sir,” said the wary Pedgift, “what inquiries you made
when you found this lady had vanished?”
“Inquiries!” repeated Allan. “I was utterly staggered; I didn’t say
anything. What inquiries ought I to have made?”
Pedgift Junior cleared his throat, and crossed his legs in a strictly
professional manner.
“I have no wish, Mr. Armadale,” he began, “to inquire into your business
with Mrs. Mandeville--”
“No,” interposed Allan, bluntly; “I hope you won’t inquire into that. My
business with Mrs. Mandeville must remain a secret.”
“But,” pursued Pedgift, laying down the law with the forefinger of one
hand on the outstretched palm of the other, “I may, perhaps, be allowed
to ask generally whether your business with Mrs. Mandeville is of a
nature to interest you in tracing her from Kingsdown Crescent to her
present residence?”
“Certainly!” said Allan. “I have a very particular reason for wishing to
see her.”
“In that case, sir,” returned Pedgift Junior, “there were two obvious
questions which you ought to have asked, to begin with--namely, on what
date Mrs. Mandeville left, and how she left. Having discovered this, you
should have ascertained next under what domestic circumstances she
went away--whether there was a misunderstanding with anybody; say a
difficulty about money matters. Also, whether she went away alone, or
with somebody else. Also, whether the house was her own, or whether she
only lodged in it. Also, in the latter event--”
“Stop! stop! you’re making my head swim,” cried Allan. “I don’t
understand all these ins and outs. I’m not used to this sort of thing.”
“I’ve been used to it myself from my childhood upward, sir,” remarked
Pedgift. “And if I can be of any assistance, say the word.”
“You’re very kind,” returned Allan. “If you could only help me to find
Mrs. Mandeville; and if you wouldn’t mind leaving the thing afterward
entirely in my hands--?”
“I’ll leave it in your hands, sir, with all the pleasure in life,” said
Pedgift Junior. (“And I’ll lay five to one,” he added, mentally, “when
the time comes, you’ll leave it in mine!”) “We’ll go to Bayswater
together, Mr. Armadale, to-morrow morning. In the meantime here’s the
soup. The case now before the court is, Pleasure versus Business. I
don’t know what you say, sir; I say, without a moment’s hesitation,
Verdict for the plaintiff. Let us gather our rosebuds while we may.
Excuse my high spirits, Mr. Armadale. Though buried in the country, I
was made for a London life; the very air of the metropolis intoxicates
me.” With that avowal the irresistible Pedgift placed a chair for
his patron, and issued his orders cheerfully to his viceroy, the
head-waiter. “Iced punch, William, after the soup. I answer for the
punch, Mr. Armadale; it’s made after a recipe of my great-uncle’s. He
kept a tavern, and founded the fortunes of the family. I don’t mind
telling you the Pedgifts have had a publican among them; there’s no
false pride about me. ‘Worth makes the man (as Pope says) and want of
it the fellow; the rest is all but leather and prunella.’ I cultivate
poetry as well as music, sir, in my leisure hours; in fact, I’m more or
less on familiar terms with the whole of the nine Muses. Aha! here’s the
punch! The memory of my great-uncle, the publican, Mr. Armadale--drunk
in solemn silence!”
Allan tried hard to emulate his companion’s gayety and good humor, but
with very indifferent success. His visit to Kingsdown Crescent recurred
ominously again and again to his memory all through the dinner, and all
through the public amusements to which he and his legal adviser repaired
at a later hour of the evening. When Pedgift Junior put out his candle
that night, he shook his wary head, and regretfully apostrophized “the
women” for the second time.
By ten o’clock the next morning the indefatigable Pedgift was on
the scene of action. To Allan’s great relief, he proposed making the
necessary inquiries at Kingsdown Crescent in his own person, while his
patron waited near at hand, in the cab which had brought them from the
hotel. After a delay of little more than five minutes, he reappeared, in
full possession of all attainable particulars. His first proceeding was
to request Allan to step out of the cab, and to pay the driver. Next,
he politely offered his arm, and led the way round the corner of the
crescent, across a square, and into a by-street, which was rendered
exceptionally lively by the presence of the local cab-stand. Here he
stopped, and asked jocosely whether Mr. Armadale saw his way now,
or whether it would be necessary to test his patience by making an
explanation.
“See my way?” repeated Allan, in bewilderment. “I see nothing but a
cab-stand.”
Pedgift Junior smiled compassionately, and entered on his explanation.
It was a lodging-house at Kingsdown Crescent, he begged to state to
begin with. He had insisted on seeing the landlady. A very nice person,
with all the remains of having been a fine girl about fifty years ago;
quite in Pedgift’s style--if he had only been alive at the beginning of
the present century--quite in Pedgift’s style. But perhaps Mr. Armadale
would prefer hearing about Mrs. Mandeville? Unfortunately, there was
nothing to tell. There had been no quarreling, and not a farthing
left unpaid: the lodger had gone, and there wasn’t an explanatory
circumstance to lay hold of anywhere. It was either Mrs. Mandeville’s
way to vanish, or there was something under the rose, quite
undiscoverable so far. Pedgift had got the date on which she left, and
the time of day at which she left, and the means by which she left.
The means might help to trace her. She had gone away in a cab which the
servant had fetched from the nearest stand. The stand was now before
their eyes; and the waterman was the first person to apply to--going to
the waterman for information being clearly (if Mr. Armadale would excuse
the joke) going to the fountain-head. Treating the subject in this airy
manner, and telling Allan that he would be back in a moment,
Pedgift Junior sauntered down the street, and beckoned the waterman
confidentially into the nearest public-house.
In a little while the two re-appeared, the waterman taking Pedgift in
succession to the first, third, fourth, and sixth of the cabmen whose
vehicles were on the stand. The longest conference was held with the
sixth man; and it ended in the sudden approach of the sixth cab to the
part of the street where Allan was waiting.
“Get in, sir,” said Pedgift, opening the door; “I’ve found the man. He
remembers the lady; and, though he has forgotten the name of the street,
he believes he can find the place he drove her to when he once gets back
into the neighborhood. I am charmed to inform you, Mr. Armadale, that
we are in luck’s way so far. I asked the waterman to show me the regular
men on the stand; and it turns out that one of the regular men drove
Mrs. Mandeville. The waterman vouches for him; he’s quite an anomaly--a
respectable cabman; drives his own horse, and has never been in any
trouble. These are the sort of men, sir, who sustain one’s belief
in human nature. I’ve had a look at our friend, and I agree with the
waterman; I think we can depend on him.”
The investigation required some exercise of patience at the outset. It
was not till the cab had traversed the distance between Bayswater and
Pimlico that the driver began to slacken his pace and look about him.
After once or twice retracing its course, the vehicle entered a quiet
by-street, ending in a dead wall, with a door in it; and stopped at the
last house on the left-hand side, the house next to the wall.
“Here it is, gentlemen,” said the man, opening the cab door.
Allan and Allan’s adviser both got out, and both looked at the house,
with the same feeling of instinctive distrust.
Buildings have their physiognomy--especially buildings in great
cities--and the face of this house was essentially furtive in its
expression. The front windows were all shut, and the front blinds were
all drawn down. It looked no larger than the other houses in the street,
seen in front; but it ran back deceitfully and gained its greater
accommodation by means of its greater depth. It affected to be a shop on
the ground-floor; but it exhibited absolutely nothing in the space that
intervened between the window and an inner row of red curtains, which
hid the interior entirely from view. At one side was the shop door,
having more red curtains behind the glazed part of it, and bearing
a brass plate on the wooden part of it, inscribed with the name of
“Oldershaw.” On the other side was the private door, with a bell marked
Professional; and another brass plate, indicating a medical occupant on
this side of the house, for the name on it was, “Doctor Downward.” If
ever brick and mortar spoke yet, the brick and mortar here said plainly,
“We have got our secrets inside, and we mean to keep them.”
“This can’t be the place,” said Allan; “there must be some mistake.”
“You know best, sir,” remarked Pedgift Junior, with his sardonic
gravity. “You know Mrs. Mandeville’s habits.”
“I!” exclaimed Allan. “You may be surprised to hear it; but Mrs.
Mandeville is a total stranger to me.”
“I’m not in the least surprised to hear it, sir; the landlady at
Kingsdown Crescent informed me that Mrs. Mandeville was an old woman.
Suppose we inquire?” added the impenetrable Pedgift, looking at the
red curtains in the shop window with a strong suspicion that Mrs.
Mandeville’s granddaughter might possibly be behind them.
They tried the shop door first. It was locked. They rang. A lean and
yellow young woman, with a tattered French novel in her hand, opened it.
“Good-morning, miss,” said Pedgift. “Is Mrs. Mandeville at home?”
The yellow young woman stared at him in astonishment. “No person of that
name is known here,” she answered, sharply, in a foreign accent.
“Perhaps they know her at the private door?” suggested Pedgift Junior.
“Perhaps they do,” said the yellow young woman, and shut the door in his
face.
“Rather a quick-tempered young person that, sir,” said Pedgift. “I
congratulate Mrs. Mandeville on not being acquainted with her.” He led
the way, as he spoke, to Doctor Downward’s side of the premises, and
rang the bell.
The door was opened this time by a man in a shabby livery. He, too,
stared when Mrs. Mandeville’s name was mentioned; and he, too, knew of
no such person in the house.
“Very odd,” said Pedgift, appealing to Allan.
“What is odd?” asked a softly stepping, softly speaking gentleman in
black, suddenly appearing on the threshold of the parlor door.
Pedgift Junior politely explained the circumstances, and begged to know
whether he had the pleasure of speaking to Doctor Downward.
The doctor bowed. If the expression may be pardoned, he was one of those
carefully constructed physicians in whom the public--especially the
female public--implicitly trust. He had the necessary bald head,
the necessary double eyeglass, the necessary black clothes, and the
necessary blandness of manner, all complete. His voice was soothing, his
ways were deliberate, his smile was confidential. What particular branch
of his profession Doctor Downward followed was not indicated on his
door-plate; but he had utterly mistaken his vocation if he was not a
ladies’ medical man.
“Are you quite sure there is no mistake about the name?” asked the
doctor, with a strong underlying anxiety in his manner. “I have known
very serious inconvenience to arise sometimes from mistakes about names.
No? There is really no mistake? In that case, gentlemen, I can only
repeat what my servant has already told you. Don’t apologize, pray.
Good-morning.” The doctor withdrew as noiselessly as he had appeared;
the man in the shabby livery silently opened the door; and Allan and his
companion found themselves in the street again.
“Mr. Armadale,” said Pedgift, “I don’t know how you feel; I feel
puzzled.”
“That’s awkward,” returned Allan. “I was just going to ask you what we
ought to do next.”
“I don’t like the look of the place, the look of the shop-woman, or the
look of the doctor,” pursued the other. “And yet I can’t say I think
they are deceiving us; I can’t say I think they really know Mrs.
Mandeville’s name.”
The impressions of Pedgift Junior seldom misled him; and they had not
misled him in this case. The caution which had dictated Mrs. Oldershaw’s
private removal from Bayswater was the caution which frequently
overreaches itself. It had warned her to trust nobody at Pimlico with
the secret of the name she had assumed as Miss Gwilt’s reference; but
it had entirely failed to prepare her for the emergency that had really
happened. In a word, Mrs. Oldershaw had provided for everything except
for the one unimaginable contingency of an after-inquiry into the
character of Miss Gwilt.
“We must do something,” said Allan; “it seems useless to stop here.”
Nobody had ever yet caught Pedgift Junior at the end of his resources;
and Allan failed to catch him at the end of them now. “I quite agree
with you, sir,” he said; “we must do something. We’ll cross-examine the
cabman.”
The cabman proved to be immovable. Charged with mistaking the place, he
pointed to the empty shop window. “I don’t know what you may have seen,
gentlemen,” he remarked; “but there’s the only shop window I ever saw
with nothing at all inside it. _That_ fixed the place in my mind at the
time, and I know it again when I see it.” Charged with mistaking the
person or the day, or the house at which he had taken the person up, the
cabman proved to be still unassailable. The servant who fetched him
was marked as a girl well known on the stand. The day was marked as the
unluckiest working-day he had had since the first of the year; and the
lady was marked as having had her money ready at the right moment (which
not one elderly lady in a hundred usually had), and having paid him his
fare on demand without disputing it (which not one elderly lady in a
hundred usually did). “Take my number, gentlemen,” concluded the cabman,
“and pay me for my time; and what I’ve said to you, I’ll swear to
anywhere.”
Pedgift made a note in his pocket-book of the man’s number. Having added
to it the name of the street, and the names on the two brass plates, he
quietly opened the cab door. “We are quite in the dark, thus far,” he
said. “Suppose we grope our way back to the hotel?”
He spoke and looked more seriously than usual The mere fact of “Mrs.
Mandeville’s” having changed her lodging without telling any one where
she was going, and without leaving any address at which letters could
be forwarded to her--which the jealous malignity of Mrs. Milroy had
interpreted as being undeniably suspicious in itself--had produced no
great impression on the more impartial judgment of Allan’s solicitor.
People frequently left their lodgings in a private manner, with
perfectly producible reasons for doing so. But the appearance of the
place to which the cabman persisted in declaring that he had driven
“Mrs. Mandeville” set the character and proceedings of that mysterious
lady before Pedgift Junior in a new light. His personal interest in the
inquiry suddenly strengthened, and he began to feel a curiosity to know
the real nature of Allan’s business which he had not felt yet.
“Our next move, Mr. Armadale, is not a very easy move to see,” he said,
as they drove back to the hotel. “Do you think you could put me in
possession of any further particulars?”
Allan hesitated; and Pedgift Junior saw that he had advanced a little
too far. “I mustn’t force it,” he thought; “I must give it time, and let
it come of its own accord.” “In the absence of any other information,
sir,” he resumed, “what do you say to my making some inquiry about that
queer shop, and about those two names on the door-plate? My business in
London, when I leave you, is of a professional nature; and I am going
into the right quarter for getting information, if it is to be got.”
“There can’t be any harm, I suppose, in making inquiries,” replied
Allan.
He, too, spoke more seriously than usual; he, too, was beginning to feel
an all-mastering curiosity to know more. Some vague connection, not to
be distinctly realized or traced out, began to establish itself in
his mind between the difficulty of approaching Miss Gwilt’s family
circumstances and the difficulty of approaching Miss Gwilt’s reference.
“I’ll get down and walk, and leave you to go on to your business,” he
said. “I want to consider a little about this, and a walk and a cigar
will help me.”
“My business will be done, sir, between one and two,” said Pedgift, when
the cab had been stopped, and Allan had got out. “Shall we meet again at
two o’clock, at the hotel?”
Allan nodded, and the cab drove off.