It was so simple that it was told in five minutes,
and then Lady Audley retired into her bed-room, and
curled herself up cozily under the eider-down quilt.
She was a chilly creature, and loved to bury herself
in soft wrappings of satin and fur.
“Kiss me, Phoebe,” she said, as the girl
arranged the curtains. “I hear Sir Michael’s
step in the anteroom; you will meet him as you go out,
and you may as well tell him that you are going up
by the first train to-morrow morning to get my dress
from Madam Frederick for the dinner at Morton Abbey.”
It was late the next morning when Lady Audley went
down to breakfast—past ten o’clock.
While she was sipping her coffee a servant brought
her a sealed packet, and a book for her to sign.
“A telegraphic message!” she cried; for
the convenient word telegram had not yet been invented.
“What can be the matter?”
She looked up at her husband with wide-open, terrified
eyes, and seemed half afraid to break the seal.
The envelope was addressed to Miss Lucy Graham, at
Mr. Dawson’s, and had been sent on from the village.
“Read it, my darling,” he said, “and
do not be alarmed; it may be nothing of any importance.”
It came from a Mrs. Vincent, the schoolmistress with
whom she had lived before entering Mr. Dawson’s
family. The lady was dangerously ill, and implored
her old pupil to go and see her.
“Poor soul! she always meant to leave me her
money,” said Lucy, with a mournful smile.
“She has never heard of the change in my fortunes.
Dear Sir Michael, I must go to her.”
“To be sure you must, dearest. If she was
kind to my poor girl in her adversity, she has a claim
upon her prosperity that shall never be forgotten.
Put on your bonnet, Lucy; we shall be in time to catch
the express.”
“You will go with me?”
“Of course, my darling. Do you suppose
I would let you go alone?”
“I was sure you would go with me,” she
said, thoughtfully.
“Does your friend send any address?”
“No; but she always lived at Crescent Villa,
West Brompton; and no doubt she lives there still.”
There was only time for Lady Audley to hurry on her
bonnet and shawl before she heard the carriage drive
round to the door, and Sir Michael calling to her
at the foot of the staircase.
Her suite of rooms, as I have said, opened one out
of another, and terminated in an octagon antechamber
hung with oil-paintings. Even in her haste she
paused deliberately at the door of this room, double-locked
it, and dropped the key into her pocket. This
door once locked cut off all access to my lady’s
apartments.
BEFORE THE STORM.
So the dinner at Audley Court was postponed, and Miss
Alicia had to wait still longer for an introduction
to the handsome young widower, Mr. George Talboys.
