After a little more reflection, I put away the papers, wrote a letter to Mr Selwyn, the solicitor, requesting that he would call upon me the following morning, and then went down to Lady M—.
“I suppose that we shall not have much of the pleasure of your company, Miss de Chatenoeuf,” said her ladyship, “now that you have such a novel occupation?”
“It is a very distressing one,” replied I, “and I wish Lady R— had not paid me such a compliment. Might I trespass upon your ladyship’s kindness to request the loan of the carriage for half-an-hour to obtain some papers from Lady R—’s house in Baker Street?”
“Oh, certainly,” replied her ladyship. “Pray have you seen Lady R—’s will?”
“Yes, madame.”
“And how has she disposed of her property?”
“She has left it all to her nephew, Lady M—.”
“Nephew! I never heard her speak of a nephew before. Sir Richard had no nephews or nieces, for he was an only son, and the title has now gone into the Vivian branch, and I never heard of her having a nephew. And what has she left you, mademoiselle, if it is not asking too much?”
“Lady R— has left me 500 pounds, my lady.”
“Indeed! well then, she pays you for your trouble. But really, Miss de Chatenoeuf, I do wish you could put off this business until after the marriages. I am so hurried and worried that I really do not know which way to turn, and really I have felt your loss these last two days more than you can imagine. You are so clever, and have so much taste, that we cannot get on without you. It’s all your own fault,” continued her ladyship, playfully, “you are so good-natured, and have made us so dependent upon you, that we cannot let you off now. Nothing in the trousseaux is approved of, unless stamped by the taste of Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf. Now, a week cannot make a great difference, and lawyers love delay: will you oblige me, therefore, by leaving Lady R—’s affairs for the present?”