Уилки Коллинз: My Lady's Money

Lady Lydiard patted the pretty head that rested on her with such filial tenderness. “There! there!” she said, “Go back and play with Tommie, my dear. We may be as fond of each other as we like; but we mustn’t cry. God bless you! Go away—go away!”

She turned aside quickly; her own eyes were moistening, and it was part of her character to be reluctant to let Isabel see it. “Why have I made a fool of myself?” she wondered, as she approached the drawing-room door. “It doesn’t matter. I am all the better for it. Odd, that Mr. Hardyman should have made me feel fonder of Isabel than ever!”

With those reflections she re-entered the drawing-room—and suddenly checked herself with a start. “Good Heavens!” she exclaimed irritably, “how you frightened me! Why was I not told you were here?”

Having left the drawing-room in a state of solitude, Lady Lydiard on her return found herself suddenly confronted with a gentleman, mysteriously planted on the hearth-rug in her absence. The new visitor may be rightly described as a gray man. He had gray hair, eyebrows, and whiskers; he wore a gray coat, waistcoat, and trousers, and gray gloves. For the rest, his appearance was eminently suggestive of wealth and respectability and, in this case, appearances were really to be trusted. The gray man was no other than Lady Lydiard’s legal adviser, Mr. Troy.

“I regret, my Lady, that I should have been so unfortunate as to startle you,” he said, with a certain underlying embarrassment in his manner. “I had the honor of sending word by Mr. Moody that I would call at this hour, on some matters of business connected with your Ladyship’s house property. I presumed that you expected to find me here, waiting your pleasure—”

Thus far Lady Lydiard had listened to her legal adviser, fixing her eyes on his face in her usually frank, straightforward way. She now stopped him in the middle of a sentence, with a change of expression in her own face which was undisguisedly a change to alarm.

“Don’t apologize, Mr. Troy,” she said. “I am to blame for forgetting your appointment and for not keeping my nerves under proper control.” She paused for a moment and took a seat before she said her next words. “May I ask,” she resumed, “if there is something unpleasant in the business that brings you here?”

“Nothing whatever, my Lady; mere formalities, which can wait till to-morrow or next day, if you wish it.”

Lady Lydiard’s fingers drummed impatiently on the table. “You have known me long enough, Mr. Troy, to know that I cannot endure suspense. You have something unpleasant to tell me.”

The lawyer respectfully remonstrated. “Really, Lady Lydiard!—” he began.

“It won’t do, Mr. Troy! I know how you look at me on ordinary occasions, and I see how you look at me now. You are a very clever lawyer; but, happily for the interests that I commit to your charge, you are also a thoroughly honest man. After twenty years’ experience of you, you can’t deceive me . You bring me bad news. Speak at once, sir, and speak plainly.”

Mr. Troy yielded—inch by inch, as it were. “I bring news which, I fear, may annoy your Ladyship.” He paused, and advanced another inch. “It is news which I only became acquainted with myself on entering this house.”

He waited again, and made another advance. “I happened to meet your Ladyship’s steward, Mr. Moody, in the hall—”

“Where is he?” Lady Lydiard interposed angrily. “I can make him speak out, and I will. Send him here instantly.”

The lawyer made a last effort to hold off the coming disclosure a little longer. “Mr. Moody will be here directly,” he said. “Mr. Moody requested me to prepare your Ladyship—”

“Will you ring the bell, Mr. Troy, or must I?”

Moody had evidently been waiting outside while the lawyer spoke for him. He saved Mr. Troy the trouble of ringing the bell by presenting himself in the drawing-room. Lady Lydiard’s eyes searched his face as he approached. Her bright complexion faded suddenly. Not a word more passed her lips. She looked, and waited.

In silence on his part, Moody laid an open sheet of paper on the table. The paper quivered in his trembling hand.

Lady Lydiard recovered herself first. “Is that for me?” she asked.

“Yes, my Lady.”

She took up the paper without an instant’s hesitation. Both the men watched her anxiously as she read it.

The handwriting was strange to her. The words were these:—

“I hereby certify that the bearer of these lines, Robert Moody by name, has presented to me the letter with which he was charged, addressed to myself, with the seal intact. I regret to add that there is, to say the least of it, some mistake. The inclosure referred to by the anonymous writer of the letter, who signs ‘a friend in need,’ has not reached me. No five-hundred pound bank-note was in the letter when I opened it. My wife was present when I broke the seal, and can certify to this statement if necessary. Not knowing who my charitable correspondent is (Mr. Moody being forbidden to give me any information), I can only take this means of stating the case exactly as it stands, and hold myself at the disposal of the writer of the letter. My private address is at the head of the page.—Samuel Bradstock, Rector, St. Anne’s, Deansbury, London.”

Lady Lydiard dropped the paper on the table. For the moment, plainly as the Rector’s statement was expressed, she appeared to be incapable of understanding it. “What, in God’s name, does this mean?” she asked.

The lawyer and the steward looked at each other. Which of the two was entitled to speak first? Lady Lydiard gave them no time to decide. “Moody,” she said sternly, “you took charge of the letter—I look to you for an explanation.”

Moody’s dark eyes flashed. He answered Lady Lydiard without caring to conceal that he resented the tone in which she had spoken to him.

“I undertook to deliver the letter at its address,” he said. “I found it, sealed, on the table. Your Ladyship has the clergyman’s written testimony that I handed it to him with the seal unbroken. I have done my duty; and I have no explanation to offer.”

Before Lady Lydiard could speak again, Mr. Troy discreetly interfered. He saw plainly that his experience was required to lead the investigation in the right direction.

“Pardon me, my Lady,” he said, with that happy mixture of the positive and the polite in his manner, of which lawyers alone possess the secret. “There is only one way of arriving at the truth in painful matters of this sort. We must begin at the beginning. May I venture to ask your Ladyship a question?”

Lady Lydiard felt the composing influence of Mr. Troy. “I am at your disposal, sir,” she said, quietly.

“Are you absolutely certain that you inclosed the bank-note in the letter?” the lawyer asked.

“I certainly believe I inclosed it,” Lady Lydiard answered. “But I was so alarmed at the time by the sudden illness of my dog, that I do not feel justified in speaking positively.”

“Was anybody in the room with your Ladyship when you put the inclosure in the letter—as you believe?”

“ I was in the room,” said Moody. “I can swear that I saw her Ladyship put the bank-note in the letter, and the letter in the envelope.”

“And seal the envelope?” asked Mr. Troy.

“No, sir. Her Ladyship was called away into the next room to the dog, before she could seal the envelope.”

Mr. Troy addressed himself once more to Lady Lydiard. “Did your Ladyship take the letter into the next room with you?”

“I was too much alarmed to think of it, Mr. Troy. I left it here, on the table.”

“With the envelope open?”