“Thereby only incurring the more compassion,” said Mr. Belamour, dryly, and going on to say that he had extended his inquires to Sedhurst, and had heard of her visit to Dame Wheatfield; also, that the good woman, going to seek her at the church, had found only the basket with the guineas in the paper. She had regarded this merely as a wrapper, and, being unable to read, had never noticed the writing, but she had fortunately preserved it, and Mr. Belamour thus learnt Aurelia’s intention of throwing herself on Lady Belamour’s mercy.
“My mother utterly denied all knowledge of her, when I cried out in anguish when she came to see me!” said Sir Amyas.
“So she does to Hargrave, whom she sent off to interrogate Mrs. Arden,” said Mr. Belamour.
“Have you any reason to think the child could have reached my Lady?” inquired Betty, seeing that none of the gentlemen regarded my Lady’s denials as making any difference to their belief, though not one of them chose to say so.
“Merely negative evidence,” said Mr. Belamour. “I find that no one in the house actually beheld the departure of my Lady on that Sunday afternoon. The little girls had been found troublesome, and sent out into the park with Molly, and my nephew was giving full employment to Jumbo and Mrs. Aylward in my room. The groom, who was at the horses’ heads, once averred that he saw two women get into the carriage besides her ladyship; but he is such a sodden confused fellow, and so contradicts himself, that I can make nothing of him.”
“He would surely know his young mistress,” said Sir Amyas.
“Perhaps not in the camlet hood, which Dame Wheatfield says she wore.”
“Was good old Dove acting as coachman?” said Betty. “We should learn something from him.”
“It was not her own coach,” said Mr. Belamour. “All the servants were strangers, the liveries sanguine, and the panels painted with helmets and trophies.”
“Mar’s,” said Sir Amyas, low and bitterly.