“That is my name,” said the lawyer, eyeing her in some surprise. He recognized her as the woman who had stared after him when he left Austin Turold’s lodgings, but he could not conjecture the object of her visit.
“I see you do not remember me,” she sadly remarked.
“You are Mrs. Brierly, I think.”
“Yes. But I was Mary Pleasington before I was married. I remember you very well, but I suppose that I have changed.”
Mr. Brimsdown recalled the name with a start of surprise. He found it difficult to recognize, in the faded woman before him, the pretty daughter of his old client, Sir Roger Pleasington, whose debts and lawsuits had been compounded by death ten years before. He remembered his daughter as a budding beauty, with the airs and graces of a pretty girl who imagines her existence to be of some importance in the world. He recollected that her marriage to an impecunious young artist had caused some sensation in Society at the time. Marriage had dealt hardly with her, and no trace of her beauty or vivacity remained.
“You are the late Mr. Turold’s legal adviser?” she continued, after a pause.
Mr. Brimsdown, always chary of unnecessary words, replied with a slight bow.
“I suppose you have come to Cornwall to investigate the cause of his death?”
Mr. Brimsdown remained silent, waiting to hear more.
“I—I wish to speak to you about that.” Her lips quivered with some inward agitation.