|After he had dined, Chetwynd took a hansom cab and drove to Lambeth.
Alighting at the foot of the bridge, he walked to Hartley's house in Spencer's Rents, wondering whether he should find any one at home.
He knocked, but not very loudly, and the summons was presently answered by Mrs. Hartley, who came from the kitchen with a light.
“Why, bless me! if it ain't Mr. Walter Liddel—or rather I ought to say Mr. Chetwynd Calverley!” she exclaimed, very nearly letting the candle drop in her surprise. “Who would have thought of seeing you here to-night, sir?”
“I've just come to town, Mrs. Hartley,” he replied, “and I couldn't help calling to inquire how you all are. How is your worthy husband?—and how is Rose?”
“Both are well, sir,” she replied, in a tone that did not sound very cheerful, “But pray come in, sir,” she added, leading him to the little parlour, with which he was so familiar.
When another candle was lighted, and he had taken his seat, she remarked: “A good deal has happened since you went away, sir.”
“Nothing unpleasant, I hope?” he inquired.
“You'll be sorry to hear that Rose's engagement with Harry Netterville is broken off.”
“Broken off!” he exclaimed. “That is bad news indeed! On what account?”
“I was going to say on your account, sir; but that wouldn't be right,” she replied. “However, this is what has taken place. An anonymous letter has been sent to Harry Netterville making reflections upon Rose's conduct with you; and as Harry is very jealous, he believed what was said, and reproached her; and Rose being very hasty, a quarrel ensued, and they both declare they won't make it up, but I hope they will, for I'm sure they're very much attached to each other.”
“I'm surprised as well as grieved by what you tell me, Mrs. Hartley,” replied Chetwynd. “I thought Harry Netterville had more sense than to be influenced by an anonymous slanderer. He ought to have treated the letter with scorn. He knows Rose too well to doubt her for a moment.
“Yes; and that's what makes her so angry with him. 'Harry has never had the slightest reason to complain of me,' she says; and now he gets this false, wicked letter, which is only written to make mischief, he thinks it all true!”
“I fancy I can give a guess at the writer,” said Chetwynd. “The villain had a double motive for sending the letter! But I will see Harry Netterville myself to-morrow, and talk to him.”
“I fear you'll only make matters worse, sir. He is very prejudiced and stupid.”
“But the affair cannot be allowed to remain in this state. I owe it to myself to set it right.”
“Well, you must talk to Rose, sir. I expect her back shortly. She's gone about a place.”
“A place?” exclaimed Chetwynd.
“Yes; since her quarrel with Harry, she has determined to go into service, and our good friend Mr. Tankard has got her a situation as lady's maid. She is gone this evening to Belgrave Square to see Lady Thicknesse, who has engaged her.”
“Now, indeed, you surprise me!” cried Chetwynd. “This is a strange coincidence!”
“Yes; I thought you'd be surprised when I mentioned the name, as you recollect that was the house—— But here she comes!” she exclaimed, as a knock was heard at the door. “Rose, my dear,” she added, “here's some one waiting to see you.”
“I know who it is,” replied her daughter. “I expected to find Mr. Chetwynd Calverley here.”
In another moment she had taken off her hat and cloak, and came into the room, looking as pretty as ever, and, what could hardly have been expected under the circumstances, in very good spirits.
“I felt almost certain I should find you here, Mr. Calverley,” she said, after salutations rather more distant than formerly had passed between them. “You will understand why I say so when I tell you I have just seen your sister and Miss Barfleur, and two more charming, amiable young ladies I never beheld. It will be quite a pleasure to me to attend upon them. And I must say they appeared equally well pleased with me. They seemed to know all about me.”
“Yes; I had described you to them,” remarked Chetwynd.
“So they told me,” said Rose. “It's a curious thing altogether; but what makes it more singular is that I should go to the house at the very time of their arrival. I believe I was engaged by Lady Thicknesse expressly to attend to them.”
Mrs. Hartley had uttered a great many exclamations as her daughter went on, and she now said:
“And how do you like Lady Thicknesse, Rose?”
“Very much indeed,” was the reply. “She is a middle-aged lady, perhaps turned fifty, but still goodlooking, and has a fine tall figure, and dresses very richly. I should have thought more of her if I hadn't been so much taken up with the young ladies. She received me very graciously, and said I should suit her perfectly, especially as her niece, Miss Barfleur, and Miss Calverley seemed pleased with me.”
“Nothing was said to her ladyship in reference to any previous matter?” inquired Chetwynd.
“Nothing whatever, sir,” replied Rose. “The young ladies spoke to me in private. I had likewise some conversation with Mr. Higgins, who cautioned me; but I told him I should never breathe a word on the subject. You needn't feel the slightest uneasiness, sir. To-morrow I enter upon my duties, and am sure I shall be very happy.”
“I sincerely hope so, Rose,” said Chetwynd. “I am very sorry for the misunderstanding that has occurred——”
“I've told Mr. Calverley all about the quarrel, my dear,” remarked Mrs. Hartley.
“I'm very angry indeed with Harry,” cried Rose, “and don't feel at all inclined to make it up with him.”
“You'll think differently by-and-by, I dare say,” observed Chetwynd. “My belief is that the writer of that mischievous letter to Harry is no other than the scoundrel who annoyed you in the steam-boat, and whom I chastised for his insolence.”
“The same idea occurred to me,” said Rose: “and I should have mentioned my suspicions to Harry, but he would listen to no explanations. Knowing his jealous temper, I never told him of that occurrence, as I fancied it would put him out. I also blame myself for not mentioning one or two circumstances that have occurred since your departure; but I really felt frightened.”
“Has Romney made an attempt to see you again?” asked Chetwynd.
“More than once,” she replied. “He annoys me dreadfully. When my father is with me, he keeps out of the way; but I cannot always have a protector at my side. This is one reason why I have resolved to go into service. I shall be secure from my tormentor.”
“I hope he won't trouble you much longer,” remarked Chetwynd.
Just then a knock was heard at the door. It was rather sharp, and surprised the hearers.
“Who can that be?” cried Rose, uneasily.
“I'll go and see,” replied her mother.
The person at the door was no other than Tom Tankard. He inquired for Rose, and Mrs. Hartley begged him to come in, and ushered him at once into the little parlour.
Tom, who was dressed in evening attire, appeared very much surprised at the sight of Chetwynd, and would have retreated, if he could have done so with a good grace.
Declining to take a seat, he addressed himself to Rose, and said:
“I hope you will excuse this intrusion, Miss Hartley, but I am the bearer of a message to you from my friend, Mr. Harry Netterville. He wishes to know whether you will grant him an interview?”
“Shall I?” said Rose, in a low voice.
“Nay, don't appeal to me,” replied Chetwynd. “Exercise your own discretion.”
“I ought to say that Mr. Netterville is without,” observed Tom; “so that he requires an immediate answer. When I inform him who his here, I don't feel quite sure that he will come in.”
“He can please himself,” said Rose. “Tell him, in reply to his message, that I will see him, but not alone.”
“Have the goodness, also, to tell him from me, Mr. Tom,” observed Chetwynd, “that I have a few words to say to him. I intended to call on him to-morrow.”
“I will do your bidding, sir,” replied Tom, “But I remark——”
“Pray, don't make any remarks at present, sir,” interrupted Chetwynd. “Just convey my message.” Tom bowed, and left the room.
He was attended to the street-door by Mrs. Hartley, who waited to see whether he would return.