"At the same time it will not be difficult, as soon as Lady Harry goes to London, to obtain some kind of advance from the family solicitor on the strength of the insurance due to her from her late husband.
"I am sorry, dear doctor, to leave you alone over the obsequies of this unfortunate gentleman. You will also have, I hear, a good deal of correspondence with his family. You may, possibly, have to see them in England. All this you will do, and do very well. Your bill for medical attendance you will do well to send in to the widow.
"One word more. Fanny Mere, the maid, has gone to London; but she has not seen Lady Harry. As soon as she hears that her mistress has left London she will be back to Passy. She may come at any moment. I think if I were you I would meet her at the garden gate and send her on. It would be inconvenient if she were to arrive before the funeral.
"My dear doctor, I rely on your sense, your prudence, and your capability.—Yours very sincerely,
"Your ENGLISH FRIEND."
He read this letter very carefully. Nothing in it he thought the least dangerous, and yet something suggested danger. However, he left it; he was obliged to caution and warn the doctor, and he was obliged to get his wife away as quietly as possible.
This done, he packed up his things and hurried off to the station, and Passy saw him no more.
The next day the mortal remains of Lord Harry Norland were lowered into the grave.
CHAPTER LV
THE ADVENTURES OF A FAITHFUL MAID
IT was about five o'clock on Saturday afternoon. The funeral was over. The unfortunate young Irish gentleman was now lying in the cemetery of Auteuil in a grave purchased in perpetuity. His name, age, and rank were duly inscribed in the registers, and the cause of his death was vouched for by the English physician who had attended him at the request of his family. He was accompanied, in going through the formalities, by the respectable woman who had nursed the sick man during his last seizure. Everything was perfectly in order. The physician was the only mourner at the funeral. No one was curious about the little procession. A funeral, more or less, excites no attention.
The funeral completed, the doctor gave orders for a single monument to be put in memory of Lord Harry Norland, thus prematurely cut off. He then returned to the cottage, paid and dismissed the nurse, taking her address in case he should find an opportunity, as he hoped, to recommend her among his numerous and distinguished clientele, and proceeded to occupy himself in setting everything in order before giving over the key to the landlord. First of all he removed the medicine bottles from the cupboard with great care, leaving nothing. Most of the bottles he threw outside into the dust-hole; one or two he placed in a fire which he made for the purpose in the kitchen: they were shortly reduced to two or three lumps of molten glass. These contained, no doubt, the mysteries and secrets of Science. Then he went into every room and searched in every possible place for any letters or papers which might have been left about. Letters left about are always indiscreet, and the consequences of an indiscretion may be far-reaching and incalculable. Satisfied at last that the place was perfectly cleared, he sat down in the salon and continued his business correspondence with the noble family and the solicitors. Thus engaged, he heard footsteps outside, footsteps on the gravel, footsteps on the doorstop. He got up, not without the slightest show of nervousness, and opened the door. Lord Harry was right. There stood the woman who had been his first nurse—the woman who overheard and watched—the woman who suspected. The suspicion and the intention of watching were legible in her eyes still. She had come back to renew her watch.
In her hand she carried her box, which she had lugged along from the place where the omnibus had deposited her. She made as if she were stepping in; but the big form of the doctor barred the way.
"Oh!" he said carelessly, "it is you. Who told you to come back?"
"Is my mistress at home?"
"No; she is not." He made no movement to let her pass.
"I will come in, please, and wait for her."
He still stood in the way.
"What time will she return?"
"Have you heard from her?"
"No."
"Did she leave orders that you were to follow her?"
"No; none that I received. I thought—"
"Servants should never think. They should obey."
"I know my duty, Dr. Vimpany, without learning it from you. Will you let me pass?"
He withdrew, and she entered.
"Come in, by all means," he said, "if you desire my society for a short time. But you will not find your mistress here."
"Not here! Where is she, then?"
"Had you waited in London for a day or two you would, I dare say, have been informed. As it is, you have had your journey for nothing."
"Has she not been here?"
"She has not been here."
"Dr. Vimpany," said the woman, driven to desperation, "I don't believe you! I am certain she has been here. What have you done with her?"
"Don't you believe me? That is sad, indeed. But one cannot always help these wanderings. You do not believe me? Melancholy, truly!"
"You may mock as much as you like. Where is she?"
"Where, indeed?"
"She left London to join his lordship. Where is he?
"I do not know. He who would answer that question would be a wise man indeed."
"Can I see him?"
"Certainly not. He has gone away. On a long journey. By himself."
"Then I shall wait for him. Here!" she added with decision. "In this house!"
"By all means."
She hesitated. There was an easy look about the doctor which she did not like.
"I believe," she said, "that my mistress is in the house. She must be in the house. What are you going to do with her? I believe you have put her somewhere."
"Indeed!"
"You would do anything! I will go to the police."
"If you please."
"Oh! doctor, tell me where she is!"
"You are a faithful servant: it is good, in these days, to find a woman so zealous on account of her mistress. Come in, good and faithful. Search the house all over. Come in—what are you afraid of? Put down your box, and go and look for your mistress." Fanny obeyed. She ran into the house, opened the doors of the salon and the dining-room one after the other: no one was there. She ran up the stairs and looked into her mistress's room: nothing was there, not even a ribbon or a hair-pin, to show the recent presence of a woman. She looked into Lord Harry's room. Nothing was there. If a woman leaves hairpins about, a man leaves his toothbrush: nothing at all was there. Then she threw open the armoire in each room: nothing behind the doors. She came downstairs slowly, wondering what it all meant.
"May I look in the spare room?" she asked, expecting to be roughly refused.
"By all means—by all means," said the doctor, blandly. "You know your way about. If there is anything left belonging to your mistress or to you, pray take it."
She tried one more question.
"How is my patient? How is Mr. Oxbye?"
"He is gone."
"Gone? Where has he gone to? Gone?"
"He went away yesterday—Friday. He was a grateful creature. I wish we had more such grateful creatures as well as more such faithful servants. He said something about finding his way to London in order to thank you properly. A good soul, indeed!"
"Gone?" she repeated. "Why, on Thursday morning I saw him—" She checked herself in time.
"It was on Wednesday morning that you saw him, and he was then recovering rapidly."
"But he was far too weak to travel."
"You may be quite certain that I should not have allowed him to go away unless he was strong enough."
Fanny made no reply. She had seen with her own eyes the man lying still and white, as if in death; she had seen the new nurse rushing off, crying that he was dead. Now she was told that he was quite well, and that he had gone away! But it was no time for thought.