"Well," said Paslow, after a pause, "you may learn more when you see Lady Watson."
"But she can have nothing to do with these things. She is a lady of rank and fashion."
"She was a friend of Alpenny's, or he would not have left her his money," said Vivian, "and is the friend of Major Ruck. I don't know a bigger blackguard in London."
Beatrice said nothing more. She quite agreed with her lover, and began to be afraid as to what she might discover when she was in the presence of Lady Watson. All the same, as she was determined to learn everything, and if possible, to so get to know the doings of the Gang that Vivian would be safe from their threats, she left early the next morning for town. Vivian accompanied her to the local station, and took a formal farewell of her. It had to be formal, because of the publicity of the platform, and also because their relations with one another, since the appearance of the supposed dead wife, were so very difficult. So Vivian coldly shook hands, although his face belied the formal action, and Beatrice watched him through tearful eyes as the train steamed towards Brighton.
Dinah had given her a couple of pounds, or rather Beatrice had borrowed these from her, with the intention of repaying her out of the first instalment of a possible salary. This was all the money she had in the world, and she prayed on the way to London, that Heaven would see fit to make Lady Watson well-disposed towards her. At Victoria Station the girl sent a wire to the address which she had procured from Dinah, who got it from Mrs. Snow. This telegram intimated that Miss Hedge,--she thought it best to keep to the name,--was coming to see Lady Watson on business. It was rather a strange thing to do; but Beatrice was new to social ways, and, moreover, could not, by reason of her scanty purse, run the risk of having to wait long in town without seeing her probable patroness.
Lady Watson lived in Kensington, and there Beatrice, not knowing the intricacies of the underground railway, drove all the way in a four-wheeler. But first, she went to a small and quiet hotel which was kept by a sister of Mrs. Lilly's. Here, thanks to the housekeeper's letter, Beatrice was received by the counterpart of Mrs. Lilly, and felt quite at home.
"You can stay here as long as you like, miss," said the landlady, when Beatrice asked for cheap apartments. "My sister has told me all about you, miss. A bedroom and sitting-room are waiting for you, miss; and we'll talk of payment on some future occasion."
Beatrice, worn out and feeling intensely lonely, could have wept because of the kindness of this reception. But she restrained her tears, as she had no desire to make her eyes red for the meeting with Lady Watson. She had some luncheon, and then dressed herself in her best mourning and took her way to the great lady's house, which was not very far away in a quiet square. Mrs. Quail, the landlady, sent a small servant to show Beatrice where the square was, and once there, the girl soon found the house by its number. But when she rang the bell, and stood alone on the doorstep, she felt very nervous. All the same her courage did not give way. The interview meant much to her, and she was determined to carry it through, cost what it might.
The footman who opened the door said that his mistress was within, and conducted Beatrice up a well-carpeted flight of wide, shallow stairs into the drawing-room. The house was well furnished, and in a rather frivolous way, which reflected the spirit of its mistress. On all hands in the drawing-room Beatrice saw evidence of waste of money in little things. Lady Watson apparently liked comfort, and spent with a lavish hand. In the midst of this modern splendour the girl felt lost, accustomed as she was to the plainest of houses. (And, indeed, as a carping critic might have said, she was not accustomed even to houses, seeing that she lived in a disused railway carriage!) However, Beatrice had little time for thought. Hardly had she cast a glance round the apartment when Lady Watson entered with a rush. She looked as young and wrinkled as ever, and was dressed in a soft tea-gown exquisitely made. At the distance she looked twenty, but when near, and in spite of the blinds being down, she looked nearly forty. However her eyes, brown and bright, twinkled as merrily as ever, and, to Beatrice's surprise, she flung her arms round her visitor's neck.
"My dear child," she rattled on, "I am glad to see you. I received your telegram, and stopped in, on purpose to see you. Of course you have come to be my companion? Your room is ready, and we will be such friends. Ah, you don't know how I love you!"