MOTHER OLDERSHAW ON HER GUARD.
1. _From Mrs. Oldershaw (Diana Street, Pimlico) to Miss Gwilt
(West Place, Old Brompton)_.
"Ladies' Toilet Repository, June 20th,
Eight in the Evening.
"MY DEAR LYDIA--About three hours have passed, as well as I can
remember, since I pushed you unceremoniously inside my house in
West Place, and, merely telling you to wait till you saw me
again, banged the door to between us, and left you alone in the
hall. I know your sensitive nature, my dear, and I am afraid you
have made up your mind by this time that never yet was a guest
treated so abominably by her hostess as I have treated you.
"The delay that has prevented me from explaining my strange
conduct is, believe me, a delay for which I am not to blame.
One of the many delicate little difficulties which beset so
essentially confidential a business as mine occurred here
(as I have since discovered) while we were taking the air this
afternoon in Kensington Gardens. I see no chance of being able to
get back to you for some hours to come, and I have a word of very
urgent caution for your private ear, which has been too long
delayed already. So I must use the spare minutes as they come,
and write.
"Here is caution the first. On no account venture outside the
door again this evening, and be very careful, while the daylight
lasts, not to show yourself at any of the front windows. I have
reason to fear that a certain charming person now staying with me
may possibly be watched. Don't be alarmed, and don't be
impatient; you shall know why.
"I can only explain myself by going back to our unlucky meeting
in the Gardens with that reverend gentleman who was so obliging
as to follow us both back to my house.
"It crossed my mind, just as we were close to the door, that
there might be a motive for the parson's anxiety to trace us
home, far less creditable to his taste, and far more dangerous to
both of us, than the motive you supposed him to have. In plainer
words, Lydia, I rather doubted whether you had met with another
admirer; and I strongly suspected that you had encountered
another enemy instead . There was no time to tell you this. There
was only time to see you safe into the house, and to make sure of
the parson (in case my suspicions were right) by treating him as
he had treated us; I mean, by following him in his turn.
"I kept some little distance behind him at first, to turn the
thing over in my mind, and to be satisfied that my doubts were
not misleading me. We have no concealments from each other; and
you shall know what my doubts were.
"I was not surprised at _your_ recognizing _him_; he is not at
all a common-looking old man; and you had seen him twice in
Somersetshire--once when you asked your way of him to Mrs.
Armadale's house, and once when you saw him again on your way
back to the railroad. But I was a little puzzled (considering
that you had your veil down on both those occasions, and your
veil down also when we were in the Gardens) at his recognizing
_you_. I doubted his remembering your figure in a summer dress
after he had only seen it in a winter dress; and though we were
talking when he met us, and your voice is one among your many
charms, I doubted his remembering your voice, either. And yet
I felt persuaded that he knew you. 'How?' you will ask. My dear,
as ill-luck would have it, we were speaking at the time of young
Armadale. I firmly believe that the name was the first thing that
struck him; and when he heard _that_, your voice certainly and
your figure perhaps, came back to his memory. 'And what if it
did?' you may say. Think again, Lydia, and tell me whether the
parson of the place where Mrs. Armadale lived was not likely to
be Mrs. Armadale's friend? If he _was_ her friend, the very first
person to whom she would apply for advice after the manner in
which you frightened her, and after what you most injudiciously
said on the subject of appealing to her son, would be the
clergyman of the parish--and the magistrate, too, as the landlord
at the inn himself told you.
"You will now understand why I left you in that extremely uncivil
manner, and I may go on to what happened next.
"I followed the old gentleman till he turned into a quiet street,
and then accosted him, with respect for the Church written
(I flatter myself) in every line of my face.
"'Will you excuse me,' I said, 'if I venture to inquire, sir,
whether you recognized the lady who was walking with me when you
happened to pass us in the Gardens?'
"'Will you excuse my asking, ma'am, why you put that question?'
was all the answer I got.
"'I will endeavor to tell you, sir,' I said. 'If my friend is
not an absolute stranger to you, I should wish to request your
attention to a very delicate subject, connected with a lady
deceased, and with her son who survives her.'
"He was staggered; I could see that. But he was sly enough at the
same time to hold his tongue and wait till I said something more.
"'If I am wrong, sir, in thinking that you recognized my friend,'
I went on, 'I beg to apologize. But I could hardly suppose it
possible that a gentleman in your profession would follow a lady
home who was a total stranger to him.'
"There I had him. He colored up (fancy that, at his age!), and
owned the truth, in defense of his own precious character.
"'I have met with the lady once before, and I acknowledge that I
recognized her in the Gardens,' he said. 'You will excuse me if
I decline entering into the question of whether I did or did not
purposely follow her home. If you wish to be assured that your
friend is not an absolute stranger to me, you now have that
assurance; and if you have anything particular to say to me, I
leave you to decide whether the time has come to say it.'
"He waited, and looked about. I waited, and looked about. He said
the street was hardly a fit place to speak of a delicate subject
in. I said the street was hardly a fit place to speak of a
delicate subject in. He didn't offer to take me to where he
lived. I didn't offer to take him to where I lived. Have you ever
seen two strange cats, my dear, nose to nose on the tiles? If you
have, you have seen the parson and me done to the life.
"'Well, ma'am,' he said, at last, 'shall we go on with our
conversation in spite of circumstances?'
"'Yes, sir,' I said; 'we are both of us, fortunately, of an age
to set circumstances at defiance' (I had seen the old wretch
looking at my gray hair, and satisfying himself that his
character was safe if he _was_ seen with me).
"After all this snapping and snarling, we came to the point at
last. I began by telling him that I feared his interest in you
was not of the friendly sort. He admitted that much--of course,
in defense of his own character once more. I next repeated
to him everything you had told me about your proceedings in
Somersetshire, when we first found that he was following us home.
Don't be alarmed my dear--I was acting on principle. If you want
to make a dish of lies digestible, always give it a garnish
of truth. Well, having appealed to the reverend gentleman's
confidence in this matter, I next declared that you had become
an altered woman since he had seen you last. I revived that dead
wretch, your husband (without mentioning names, of course),
established him (the first place I thought of) in business at the
Brazils, and described a letter which he had written, offering to
forgive his erring wife, if she would repent and go back to him.
I assured the parson that your husband's noble conduct had
softened your obdurate nature; and then, thinking I had produced
the right impression, I came boldly to close quarters with him.
I said, 'At the very time when you met us, sir, my unhappy friend
was speaking in terms of touching, self-reproach of her conduct
to the late Mrs. Armadale. She confided to me her anxiety to make
some atonement, if possible, to Mrs. Armadale's son; and it is
at her entreaty (for she cannot prevail on herself to face you)
that I now beg to inquire whether Mr. Armadale is still in
Somersetshire, and whether he would consent to take back in small
installments the sum of money which my friend acknowledges that
she received by practicing on Mrs. Armadale's fears.' Those were
my very words. A neater story (accounting so nicely for
everything) was never told; it was a story to melt a stone. But
this Somersetshire parson is harder than stone itself. I blush
for _him_, my dear, when I assure you that he was evidently
insensible enough to disbelieve every word I said about your
reformed character, your husband in the Brazils, and your
penitent anxiety to pay the money back. It is really a disgrace
that such a man should be in the Church; such cunning as his is
in the last degree unbecoming in a member of a sacred profession.
"'Does your friend propose to join her husband by the next
steamer?' was all he condescended to say, when I had done.
"I acknowledge I was angry. I snapped at him. I said, 'Yes, she
does.'
"'How am I to communicate with her?' he asked.
"I snapped at him again. 'By letter--through me.'
"'At what address, ma'am?'
"There, I had him once more. 'You have found my address out for
yourself, sir,' I said. 'The directory will tell you my name, if
you wish to find that out for yourself also; otherwise, you are
welcome to my card.'
"'Many thanks, ma'am. If your friend wishes to communicate with
Mr. Armadale, I will give you _my_ card in return.'
"'Thank you, sir.'
"'Thank you, ma'am.'
"'Good-afternoon, sir.'
"'Good-afternoon, ma'am.'
"So we parted. I went my way to an appointment at my place
of business, and he went his in a hurry; which is of itself
suspicious. What I can't get over is his heartlessness. Heaven
help the people who send for _him_ to comfort them on their
death-beds!
"The next consideration is, What are we to do? If we don't find
out the right way to keep this old wretch in the dark, he may be
the ruin of us at Thorpe Ambrose just as we are within easy reach
of our end in view. Wait up till I come to you, with my mind
free, I hope, from the other difficulty which is worrying me
here. Was there ever such ill luck as ours? Only think of that
man deserting his congregation, and coming to London just at the
very time when we have answered Major Milroy's advertisement, and
may expect the inquiries to be made next week! I have no patience
with him; his bishop ought to interfere.
"Affectionately yours,
"MARIA OLDERSHAW."
2. _From Miss Gwilt to Mrs. Oldershaw_.
"West Place, June 20th.
"MY POOR OLD DEAR--How very little you know of my sensitive
nature, as you call it! Instead of feeling offended when you left
me, I went to your piano, and forgot all about you till your
messenger came. Your letter is irresistible; I have been laughing
over it till I am quite out of breath. Of all the absurd stories
I ever read, the story you addressed to the Somersetshire
clergyman is the most ridiculous. And as for your interview with
him in the street, it is a perfect sin to keep it to ourselves.
The public ought really to enjoy it in the form of a farce at one
of the theaters.
"Luckily for both of us (to come to serious matters), your
messenger is a prudent person. He sent upstairs to know if there
was an answer. In the midst of my merriment I had presence of
mind enough to send downstairs and say 'Yes.'
"Some brute of a man says, in some book which I once read, that
no woman can keep two separate trains of ideas in her mind at the
same time. I declare you have almost satisfied me that the man
is right. What! when you have escaped unnoticed to your place
of business, and when you suspect this house to be watched, you
propose to come back here, and to put it in the parson's power to
recover the lost trace of you! What madness! Stop where you are;
and when you have got over your difficulty at Pimlico (it is some
woman's business, of course; what worries women are!), be so good
as to read what I have got to say about our difficulty at
Brompton.
"In the first place, the house (as you supposed) is watched.
"Half an hour after you left me, loud voices in the street
interrupted me at the piano, and I went to the window. There was
a cab at the house opposite, where they let lodgings; and an old
man, who looked like a respectable servant, was wrangling with
the driver about his fare. An elderly gentleman came out of the
house, and stopped them. An elderly gentleman returned into the
house, and appeared cautiously at the front drawing-room window.
You know him, you worthy creature; he had the bad taste, some few
hours since, to doubt whether you were telling him the truth.
Don't be afraid, he didn't see me. When he looked up, after
settling with the cab driver, I was behind the curtain. I have
been behind the curtain once or twice since; and I have seen
enough to satisfy me that he and his servant will relieve each
other at the window, so as never to lose sight of your house
here, night or day. That the parson suspects the real truth
is of course impossible. But that he firmly believes I mean some
mischief to young Armadale, and that you have entirely confirmed
him in that conviction, is as plain as that two and two make
four. And this has happened (as you helplessly remind me) just
when we have answered the advertisement, and when we may expect
the major's inquiries to be made in a few days' time.
"Surely, here is a terrible situation for two women to find
themselves in? A fiddlestick's end for the situation! We have got
an easy way out of it--thanks, Mother Oldershaw, to what I myself
forced you to do, not three hours before the Somersetshire
clergyman met with us.
"Has that venomous little quarrel of ours this morning--after we
had pounced on the major's advertisement in the newspaper--quite
slipped out of your memory? Have you forgotten how I persisted in
my opinion that you were a great deal too well known in London to
appear safely as my reference in your own name, or to receive an
inquiring lady or gentleman (as you were rash enough to propose)
in your own house? Don't you remember what a passion you were in
when I brought our dispute to an end by declining to stir a step
in the matter, unless I could conclude my application to Major
Milroy by referring him to an address at which you were totally
unknown, and to a name which might be anything you pleased, as
long as it was not yours? What a look you gave me when you found
there was nothing for it but to drop the whole speculation or to
let me have my own way! How you fumed over the lodging hunting
on the other side of the Park! and how you groaned when you came
back, possessed of furnished apartments in respectable Bayswater,
over the useless expense I had put you to!
"What do you think of those furnished apartments _now_, you
obstinate old woman? Here we are, with discovery threatening us
at our very door, and with no hope of escape unless we can
contrive to disappear from the parson in the dark. And there are
the lodgings in Bayswater, to which no inquisitive strangers have
traced either you or me, ready and waiting to swallow us up--the
lodgings in which we can escape all further molestation, and
answer the major's inquiries at our ease. Can you see, at last, a
little further than your poor old nose? Is there anything in the
world to prevent your safe disappearance from Pimlico to-night,
and your safe establishment at the new lodgings, in the character
of my respectable reference, half an hour afterward? Oh, fie,
fie, Mother Oldershaw! Go down on your wicked old knees, and
thank your stars that you had a she-devil like me to deal with
this morning!
"Suppose we come now to the only difficulty worth mentioning--
_my_ difficulty. Watched as I am in this house, how am I to join
you without bringing the parson or the parson's servant with me
at my heels?
"Being to all intents and purposes a prisoner here, it seems to
me that I have no choice but to try the old prison plan of
escape: a change of clothes. I have been looking at your
house-maid. Except that we are both light, her face and hair and
my face and hair are as unlike each other as possible. But she is
as nearly as can be my height and size; and (if she only knew how
to dress herself, and had smaller feet) her figure is a very much
better one than it ought to be for a person in her station in
life.
"My idea is to dress her in the clothes I wore in the Gardens
to-day; to send her out, with our reverend enemy in full pursuit
of her; and, as soon as the coast is clear, to slip away myself
and join you. The thing would be quite impossible, of course, if
I had been seen with my veil up; but, as events have turned out,
it is one advantage of the horrible exposure which followed my
marriage that I seldom show myself in public, and never, of
course, in such a populous place as London, without wearing a
thick veil and keeping that veil down. If the house-maid wears my
dress, I don't really see why the house-maid may not be counted
on to represent me to the life.
"The one question is, Can the woman be trusted? If she can, send
me a line, telling her, on your authority, that she is to place
herself at my disposal. I won't say a word till I have heard from
you first.
"Let me have my answer to-night. As long as we were only talking
about my getting the governess's place, I was careless enough how
it ended. But now that we have actually answered Major Milroy's
advertisement, I am in earnest at last. I mean to be Mrs.
Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose; and woe to the man or woman who tries
to stop me! Yours,
"LYDIA GWILT.
"P.S.--I open my letter again to say that you need have no fear
of your messenger being followed on his return to Pimlico. He
will drive to a public-house where he is known, will dismiss the
cab at the door, and will go out again by a back way which is
only used by the landlord and his friends.--L. G."
3. _From Mrs. Oldershaw to Miss Gwilt_.
"Diana Street, 10 o'clock.
"MY DEAR LYDIA--You have written me a heartless letter. If you
had been in my trying position, harassed as I was when I wrote
to you, I should have made allowances for my friend when I found
my friend not so sharp as usual. But the vice of the present age
is a want of consideration for persons in the decline of life.
Morally speaking, you are in a sad state, my dear; and you stand
much in need of a good example. You shall have a good example--I
forgive you.
"Having now relieved my mind by the performance of a good action,
suppose I show you next (though I protest against the vulgarity
of the expression) that I _can_ see a little further than my poor
old nose?
"I will answer your question about the house-maid first. You may
trust her implicitly. She has had her troubles, and has learned
discretion. She also looks your age; though it is only her due to
say that, in this particular, she has some years the advantage of
you. I inclose the necessary directions which will place her
entirely at your disposal.
"And what comes next?
"Your plan for joining me at Bayswater comes next. It is very
well as far as it goes; but it stands sadly in need of a little
judicious improvement. There is a serious necessity (you shall
know why presently) for deceiving the parson far more completely
than you propose to deceive him. I want him to see the
house-maid's face under circumstances which will persuade him
that it is _your_ face. And then, going a step further, I want
him to see the house-maid leave London, under the impression that
he has seen _you_ start on the first stage of your journey to the
Brazils. He didn't believe in that journey when I announced it to
him this afternoon in the street. He may believe in it yet, if
you follow the directions I am now going to give you.
"To-morrow is Saturday. Send the housemaid out in your walking
dress of to-day, just as you propose; but don't stir out
yourself, and don't go near the window. Desire the woman to keep
her veil down, to take half an hour's walk (quite unconscious, of
course, of the parson or his servant at her heels), and then to
come back to you. As soon as she appears, send her instantly to
the open window, instructing her to lift her veil carelessly and
look out. Let her go away again after a minute or two, take off
her bonnet and shawl, and then appear once more at the window,
or, better still, in the balcony outside. She may show herself
again occasionally (not too often) later in the day. And
to-morrow--as we have a professional gentleman to deal with--by
all means send her to church. If these proceedings don't persuade
the parson that the house-maid's face is your face, and if they
don't make him readier to believe in your reformed character than
he was when I spoke to him, I have lived sixty years, my love,
in this vale of tears to mighty little purpose.
"The next day is Monday. I have looked at the shipping
advertisements, and I find that a steamer leaves Liverpool for
the Brazils on Tuesday. Nothing could be more convenient; we will
start you on your voyage under the parson's own eyes. You may
manage it in this way:
"At one o'clock send out the man who cleans the knives and forks
to get a cab; and when he has brought it up to the door, let him
go back and get a second cab, which he is to wait in himself,
round the corner, in the square. Let the house-maid (still in
your dress) drive off, with the necessary boxes, in the first cab
to the North-western Railway. When she is gone, slip out yourself
to the cab waiting round the corner, and come to me at Bayswater.
They may be prepared to follow the house-maid's cab, because they
have seen it at the door; but they won't be prepared to follow
your cab, because it has been hidden round the corner. When the
house-maid has got to the station, and has done her best to
disappear in the crowd (I have chosen the mixed train at 2:10,
so as to give her every chance), you will be safe with me; and
whether they do or do not find out that she does not really start
for Liverpool won't matter by that time. They will have lost all
trace of you; and they may follow the house-maid half over
London, if they like. She has my instructions (inclosed) to leave
the empty boxes to find their way to the lost luggage office and
to go to her friends in the City, and stay there till I write
word that I want her again.
"And what is the object of all this?
"My dear Lydia, the object is your future security (and mine).
We may succeed or we may fail, in persuading the parson that you
have actually gone to the Brazils. If we succeed, we are relieved
of all fear of him. If we fail, he will warn young Armadale to be
careful _of a woman like my house-maid, and not of a woman like
you_. This last gain is a very important one; for we don't know
that Mrs. Armadale may not have told him your maiden name. In
that event, the 'Miss Gwilt' whom he will describe as having
slipped through his fingers here will be so entirely unlike
the 'Miss Gwilt' established at Thorpe Ambrose, as to satisfy
everybody that it is not a case of similarity of persons, but
only a case of similarity of names.
"What do you say now to my improvement on your idea? Are my
brains not quite so addled as you thought them when you wrote?
Don't suppose I'm at all overboastful about my own ingenuity.
Cleverer tricks than this trick of mine are played off on the
public by swindlers, and are recorded in the newspapers every
week. I only want to show you that my assistance is not less
necessary to the success of the Armadale speculation now than
it was when I made our first important discoveries, by means
of the harmless-looking young man and the private inquiry office
in Shadyside Place.
"There is nothing more to say that I know of, except that I am
just going to start for the new lodging, with a box directed in
my new name. The last expiring moments of Mother Oldershaw, of
the Toilet Repository, are close at hand, and the birth of Miss
Gwilt's respectable reference, Mrs. Mandeville, will take place
in a cab in five minutes' time. I fancy I must be still young
at heart, for I am quite in love already with my romantic name;
it sounds almost as pretty as Mrs. Armadale of Thorpe Ambrose,
doesn't it?
"Good-night, my dear, and pleasant dreams. If any accident
happens between this and Monday, write to me instantly by post.
If no accident happens you will be with me in excellent time
for the earliest inquiries that the major can possibly make.
My last words are, don't go out, and don't venture near the
front windows till Monday comes.
"Affectionately yours,
M. O."