“The lodge-keeper’s girl!” There was something needlessly contemptuous in the phrase, it seemed to Theodore: a studied disdain.
“It was she herself who suggested the idea, by her inquiries about Cheriton. She confessed to having come from this part of the world, and she has an air of refinement which shows that she does not belong to the peasant class. She is a very good pianiste—plays with remarkable taste and feeling; and Lady Cheriton tells me that Mercy had a talent for music. I have no doubt in my own mind that this young woman is Mercy Porter, and I think her mother ought to go to London and see her, even if she should not think fit to bring her back to the home she left.”
“Mrs. Porter is a woman of peculiar temper. The girl may be happier away from her.”
“Yes, that is very likely—but the mother ought to forgive her. The penitent sinner, whose life for the last few years has been blameless, ought to feel that she is pardoned and at peace with her mother. I tried to approach the subject, but Mrs. Porter repelled me with an almost vindictive air; and I do not think it would be any good for me to plead for my poor friend again. If you or Lady Cheriton would talk to her——”
“I will get my wife to manage her. It is a matter in which a woman would have more influence than you or I. In the mean time, if there is anything I can do to make Mercy Porter’s life easier, I shall be very glad to do it, for her father’s sake.”
“You are very good; but she is not in want, and she seems content with her lot.”
“What is she doing for a living?”
“Her employment is fine needlework. She lives in one small back room in Lambeth, and has only one friend in the world, and that friend happens to be a lady who once lived in this house.”
“A lady who lived in this house!” exclaimed Lord Cheriton. “Who, in Heaven’s name, do you mean?”
“Miss Newton, who was governess to Miss Strangway nearly forty years ago.”