The doctor said he would; and the plan of the dowager, he thought, would, in the meantime, be the best one to pursue.
“Yes,” said Mrs Hartshorne; “I shall send up to Mr Trump, in London, at once, and put the matter in his hands. He is a lawyer, and he will know what is best for us to do. I can’t say I’m very fond of the girl,” observed the dowager, drily, to which Doctor Jolly gave a decidedly affirmative nod; “but I would not like her to come to any harm. But who shall I send? Can you go?”
“Bless my soul!” replied Doctor Jolly. “I would go at once, but there’s poor Tom; I can’t leave him, for he’s in a very ticklish state.”
“True—true; poor Thomas! It’s a pretty kettle of fish, all this happening just now.”
“Let me go, ma’am,” said Miss Kingscott, quietly.
“You!” snapped out the old lady. “What’s the good of a girl like you going? What can you do?”
“I’m sure a girl can be as good a messenger as anyone else, and I can go at once,” answered the governess, calmly; “indeed I’m so interested in my poor pupil, that I should like to do something towards finding her.”
“Humph!” grunted the dowager, thinking it over.
“Certainly,” put in the doctor; “certainly, madam. Bless my soul! I should like to know why not?”
The thing was agreed to after some further conversation, and Miss Kingscott, charged with a curt epistle from the dowager, and a supply of money from the doctor’s own purse—the old lady had not hinted at producing any, and did not advance any demurrer to his so doing—for paying her expenses on the road, was directed to go to Hartwood Station. She was to ask there whether they had seen Susan, and if she heard no intelligence, she was to proceed direct to London; there she was to call on the lawyers without losing time, explain the whole matter to Mr Trump, and tell him to come down at once—indeed, she was to bring him down with her if she could.