Page:Once a Week Jun to Dec 1864.pdf/115

100 the death and the burial, Jane borrowed the countess’s carriage—her own but one short year before—and went to Gloucester Terrace. Though feeling a conviction that Mrs. West would have sent to her had she heard news of Clarice, it did not seem right to Jane’s anxious mind that she should leave London again without personally inquiring. But when she reached the house she received a disappointment; Mrs. West and her children, she was told, were at the sea-side.

As Jane stood in the door-way in hesitation—as is the manner of many when they meet with an unexpected check—a gentleman put his head out at one of the sitting-rooms, wondering perhaps who might be the visitor, and what the colloquy was about. He was a pleasant-looking man, short and stout, with a red face and bristling hair.

“It’s a good six weeks before my mistress will be at home, ma'am,” the servant was saying. “She only went ten days ago, andbut here’s master,” she broke off, as the gentleman came forward. “Perhaps he can tell more certain nor me.”

Mr. West advanced to Lady Jane. His wife, Mrs. West, was out of town, he observed. Could he answer any questions for her, or convey to her any message?—he should be joining her at Ramsgate on the morrow.

Jane stepped into the sitting-room. He would probably know as much as his wife, was the reflection that crossed her mind. She mentioned the errand that she had come upon, and that she had been there some fifteen months previously on the same.

“Oh yes, yes,” said Mr. West. “I remember my wife spoke of the circumstance to me—Lady Jane Chesney, I presume,” he added with a bow. “I am sorry to say that we have never heard anything of her. Only a short while before my wife left home for Ramsgate, she was talking of Miss Beauchamp and wondering whether her friends had found her.”

Jane sighed heavily, although she had expected nothing else but the disappointment “No,” she said, in a low tone, “we have not heard of her.”

“It is very extraordinary!” exclaimed Mr. West.

“It is more than that,” said Jane, “it is alarming. Until lately we cherished the hope that she had gone abroad with some family, but every month that glides on seems to set the hope more and more at nought. Thank you,” she added, moving to the door, and handing him a card. “That is my address in the country, where I reside; should Mrs. West ever hear of her—though indeed the suggestion sounds a forlorn one—perhaps she will kindly forward me word of it there.”

“I am sure you may rely upon her doing so,” returned Mr. West. “And I only wish I had been able to give your ladyship better news now,” he heartily concluded.

Attending her outside, he stood on the pavement while she stepped into the carriage, and was driven away. Jane sat in it strangely disheartened, considering that she had expected no better. A conviction had latterly been gaining upon her that Clarice was dead, and she seemed only to be able to think of her as such.

But now there was one little item of news regarding Miss Beauchamp that Mrs. West had learnt since she last saw Lady Jane, and which she would certainly have imparted to her had she been at home, though she had not deemed it of sufficient importance to write to her. Mr. West knew it, but he never supposed that it was not known to Lady Jane. After all, it was not much; and would have left the affair in at least equal mystery to that which at present enshrouded it.

Jane went wearily up the stairs on her return, and entered the countess’s bedroom. Lady Oakburn was in an easy chair by the fire: she sat up for several hours a day now, although the nurse with her old-fashioned ideas protested it was “too soon.” Only Laura was with her, and she, Laura, held the little baby on her lap. Quite a mark of condescension for Laura, who was not fond of bringing herself into contact with things so troublesome as babies.

“I wish my own had lived,” she was saying to Lady Oakburn. “It was the sweetest little girl ever seen. But I should not have nursed it, you know; I could not have subjected myself to the tie. I cannot think how you can have undertaken such a task!—you’ll never be able to go out.”

Lady Oakburn smiled. She and Laura were very different. “How long did your child live?” she inquired.

“Only a day and a half. Mr. Carlton saw from the first that it would not live; but he did not tell me, and I wondered why he had it baptised so quickly. When he asked me what the name should be, and said Mr. Lycett was down-stairs and would baptise it, I inquired why he wanted it done, and he said carelessly it was as well, when infants were delicate. I thought nothing of the answer then, but he has told me since.”

“What did you name it?”

“Laura. Mr. Carlton wished it, and I like the name very well. What it Jane sitting in that strange manner for? Like a statue!”