Be that as it may, however, there was Clara Kingscott incarcerated in a cell, and powerless of action. There are strange things happen sometimes in fiction; but stranger things often occur in real life.
Volume Three—Chapter Two.
“Mishter Sholomonshon” prepares to Act: Much he gains by it!
Matters seem somewhat forestalled, and a brief retrospect is needed.
How came she there—his Nemesis? Politely bowed out, after she had avowed her share in Markworth’s conspiracy to Mr Trump, Clara Kingscott walked away from the lawyers’ offices in a perfect frenzy. She was ever tasting the cup of revenge, which she would have so gladly drunk to the dregs, and yet as she raised it to her lips it was ever being dashed away.
It was maddening to her now to think that when she had planned to ruin Markworth at the eleventh hour, just when he was confident of success, by her appearance against instead of for him in the suit, that circumstances should so occur to defeat his ends without her aid being required. She had intended all along that her hand should deal him the blow, and that he should know it.
True it was that all his hopes for getting Susan Hartshorne’s fortune were all passed away like last winter’s snow; that was some satisfaction for her to know, but then Markworth’s ill-luck was not caused by her; there was where the shoe pinched, and she felt foiled.
What should she do now? She could not remain inactive. Reflecting a moment, she turned and walked hurriedly onward across Holborn, and down Chancery Lane, until she came to the offices of Solomonson and Isaacs.