THE many-toned murmur of the current of London life--flowing through the murky channel of Drury Lane--found its muffled way from the front room to the back. Piles of old music lumbered the dusty floor. Stage masks and weapons, and portraits of singers and dancers, hung round the walls. An empty violin case in one corner faced a broken bust of Rossini in another. A frameless print, representing the Trial of Queen Caroline, was pasted over the fireplace. The chairs were genuine specimens of ancient carving in oak. The table was an equally excellent example of dirty modern deal. A small morsel of drugget was on the floor; and a large deposit of soot was on the ceiling. The scene thus presented, revealed itself in the back drawing-room of a house in Drury Lane, devoted to the transaction of musical and theatrical business of the humbler sort. It was late in the afternoon, on Michaelmas-day. Two persons were seated together in the room: they were Anne Silvester and Sir Patrick Lundie.
The opening conversation between them--comprising, on one side, the narrative of what had happened at Perth and at Swanhaven; and, on the other, a statement of the circumstances attending the separation of Arnold and Blanche--had come to an end. It rested with Sir Patrick to lead the way to the next topic. He looked at his companion, and hesitated.
"Do you feel strong enough to go on?" he asked. "If you would prefer to rest a little, pray say so."
"Thank you, Sir Patrick. I am more than ready, I a m eager, to go on. No words can say how anxious I feel to be of some use to you, if I can. It rests entirely with your experience to show me how."
"I can only do that, Miss Silvester, by asking you without ceremony for all the information that I want. Had you any object in traveling to London, which you have not mentioned to me yet? I mean, of course, any object with which I hare a claim (as Arnold Brinkworth's representative) to be acquainted?"
"I had an object, Sir Patrick. And I have failed to accomplish it."
"May I ask what it was?"
"It was to see Geoffrey Delamayn."
Sir Patrick started. "You have attempted to see _him!_ When?"
"This morning."
"Why, you only arrived in London last night!"
"I only arrived," said Anne, "after waiting many days on the journey. I was obliged to rest at Edinburgh, and again at York--and I was afraid I had given Mrs. Glenarm time enough to get to Geoffrey Delamayn before me."
"Afraid?" repeated Sir Patrick. "I understood that you had no serious intention of disputing the scoundrel with Mrs. Glenarm.
What motive could possibly have taken you _his_ way?"
"The same motive which took me to Swanhaven."
"What! the idea that it rested with Delamayn to set things right? and that you might bribe him to do it, by consenting to release him, so far as your claims were concerned?"
"Bear with my folly, Sir Patrick, as patiently as you can! I am always alone now; and I get into a habit of brooding over things.
I have been brooding over the position in which my misfortunes have placed Mr. Brinkworth. I have been obstinate--unreasonably obstinate--in believing that I could prevail with Geoffrey Delamayn, after I had failed with Mrs. Glenarm. I am obstinate about it still. If he would only have heard me, my madness in going to Fulham might have had its excuse." She sighed bitterly, and said no more.
Sir Patrick took her hand.
"It _has_ its excuse," he said, kindly. "Your motive is beyond reproach. Let me add--to quiet your mind--that, even if Delamayn had been willing to hear you, and had accepted the condition, the result would still have been the same. You are quite wrong in supposing that he has only to speak, and to set this matter right. It has passed entirely beyond his control. The mischief was done when Arnold Brinkworth spent those unlucky hours with you at Craig Fernie."
"Oh, Sir Patrick, if I had only known that, before I went to Fulham this morning!"
She shuddered as she said the words. Something was plainly associated with her visit to Geoffrey, the bare remembrance of which shook her nerves. What was it? Sir Patrick resolved to obtain an answer to that question, before be ventured on proceeding further with the main object of the interview.
"You have told me your reason for going to Fulham," he said. "But I have not heard what happened there yet."
Anne hesitated. "Is it necessary for me to trouble you about that?" she asked--with evident reluctance to enter on the subject.
"It is absolutely necessary," answered Sir Patrick, "because Delamayn is concerned in it."
Anne summoned her resolution, and entered on her narrative in these words:
"The person who carries on the business here discovered the address for me," she began. "I had some difficulty, however, in finding the house. It is little more than a cottage; and it is quite lost in a great garden, surrounded by high walls. I saw a carriage waiting. The coachman was walking his horses up and down--and he showed me the door. It was a high wooden door in the wall, with a grating in it. I rang the bell. A servant-girl opened the grating, and looked at me. She refused to let me in.
Her mistress had ordered her to close the door on all strangers--especially strangers who were women. I contrived to pass some money to her through the grating, and asked to speak to her mistress. After waiting some time, I saw another face behind the bars--and it struck me that I recognized it. I suppose I was nervous. It startled me. I said, 'I think we know each other.'
There was no answer. The door was suddenly opened--and who do you think stood before me?"
"Was it somebody I know?"
"Yes."
"Man? or woman?"
"It was Hester Dethridge."
"Hester Dethridge!"
"Yes. Dressed just as usual, and looking just as usual--with her slate hanging at her side."
"Astonishing! Where did I last see her? At the Windygates station, to be sure--going to London, after she had left my sister-in-law's service. Has she accepted another place--without letting me know first, as I told her?"
"She is living at Fulham."
"In service?"