No one could imagine why Clara absented herself from the parlour for several days following, and not even her mother—although, from the soft and mysterious conversations held by Mistress Haylark and Dame Worthington upon the landings, and in the passages, on several occasions, it was apparent that womanly sagacity had intuitively suggested the real facts to their minds, although they only smiled and nodded and winked in that peculiar manner known to mothers and very elderly persons.
Sir Richard Warbeck, it may be taken for granted, was not remiss in visiting his protegé, but evinced the greatest anxiety for his health and speedy recovery.
His visits were daily, and he always brought some trifle which might be grateful to a sick palate; but Mistress Haylark—that aged thermometer of passing events—always noticed that Dame Worthington always was in unusual spirits upon his coming, but suddenly depressed whenever he departed.
There was “something mysterious” between them, Mistress Haylark thought, but what it was it seemed impossible to divine.
As Clara seemed to be constantly in high spirits, and delighted always in company with the good-looking Charley, Mistress Haylark began to assume airs of great matronly dignity, and, if the truth must be told, confessed that she began to feel older and older every day, and that “her sole thought was concerning the future happiness of her darling beautiful daughter.”
Mesdames Haylark and Worthington became almost inseparable and extremely confidential, and on one occasion, when Mistress Haylark complained of a pain in her stomach and would have gone upstairs for “a thimbleful” of ginger wine, Dame Worthington vehemently protested, and forthwith introduced her old family specific from “the top shelf, behind the pickles,” forty drops of which, slightly diluted with water, effectually relieved all pain, and threw them both into such high spirits, that they continued discussing family and household affairs and secrets, until long after the church clocks had chimed the hour of midnight.
But while Charley is recovering, under the combined effects of love, philosophy, and kind treatment, the Directors of the India House have been assiduous in their endeavours to trace out the true depositor of the packet of counterfeit bank notes.
They went to work very quietly and coolly, but despite their own, and the hawk-eyed exertions of clever detectives—Captain Jack among the rest—they were wholly unable to fasten solid suspicion upon any one of their employées.
An anonymous note, evidently written in a counterfeit hand, and signed “R,” startled them.
Charley was the person pointed at by the unknown correspondent; but Sir Richard Warbeck and others who were consulted would not believe the insinuation, and the matter seemed to drop indefinitely.