On the next day Mountjoy heard news of Iris, which was not of a nature
to relieve his anxieties. He received a visit from Fanny Mere.
The leave-taking of Mr. Vimpany, on the previous evening, was the first
event which the maid had to relate. She had been present when the
doctor said good-bye to the master and mistress. Business in London was
the reason he gave for going away. The master had taken the excuse as
if he really believed in it, and seemed to be glad to get rid of his
friend. The mistress expressed her opinion that Mr. Vimpany's return to
London must have been brought about by an act of liberality on the part
of the most generous of living men. "Your friend has, as I believe,
got some money from my friend," she said to her husband. My lord had
looked at her very strangely when she spoke of Mr. Mountjoy in that
way, and had walked out of the room. As soon as his back was turned,
Fanny had obtained leave of absence. She had carried out her intention
of watching the terminus, and had seen Mr. Vimpany take his place among
the passengers to London by the mail train.
Returning to the cottage, it was Fanny's duty to ascertain if her
services were required in her mistress's room.
On reaching the door, she had heard the voices of my lord and my lady,
and (as Mr. Mountjoy would perhaps be pleased to know) had been too
honourable to listen outside, on this occasion. She had at once gone
away, and had waited until she should be sent for. After a long
interval, the bell that summoned her had been rung. She had found the
mistress in a state of agitation, partly angry, and partly distressed;
and had ventured to ask if anything unpleasant had happened. No reply
was made to that inquiry. Fanny had silently performed the customary
duties of the night-toilet, in getting my lady ready for bed; they had
said good-night to each other and had said no more.
In the morning (that present morning), being again in attendance as
usual, the maid had found Lady Harry in a more indulgent frame of mind;
still troubled by anxieties, but willing to speak of them now.
She had begun by talking of Mr. Mountjoy: "I think you like him, Fanny: everybody likes him. You will be sorry to
hear that we have no prospect of seeing him again at the cottage."
There she had stopped; something that she had not said, yet, seemed to
be in her mind, and to trouble her. She was near to crying, poor soul,
but struggled against it. "I have no sister," she said, "and no friend
who might be like a sister to me. It isn't perhaps quite right to speak
of my sorrow to my maid. Still, there is something hard to bear in
having no kind heart near one--I mean, no other woman to speak to who
knows what women feel. It is so lonely here--oh, so lonely! I wonder
whether you understand me and pity me?" Never forgetting all that she
owed to her mistress--if she might say so without seeming to praise
herself--Fanny was truly sorry. It would have been a relief to her, if
she could have freely expressed her opinion that my lord must be to
blame, when my lady was in trouble. Being a man, he was by nature cruel
to women; the wisest thing his poor wife could do would be to expect
nothing from him. The maid was sorely tempted to offer a little good
advice to this effect; but she was afraid of her own remembrances, if
she encouraged them by speaking out boldly. It would be better to wait
for what the mistress might say next.