“Don’t think I want to see you less keen. It isn’t that. Did Félicia tell you any news in her letter—anything that had happened?”
“No; there was nothing of that sort. But really, Uncle Cyril, I don’t think she was angry with me for staying away. I wrote her awfully long letters—and sent her things, too. She couldn’t think I had forgotten her.”
“I never thought she did. But did she express regret for anything in particular, or merely for her general treatment of you? I have an object in asking,” as Usk looked at him in surprise. “Don’t think it’s mere curiosity.”
“She didn’t mention anything definite—except just to say that if things went wrong between us, it was Maimie Logan’s fault, not hers, which I could have told her myself. Oh, by the bye, that’s another queer thing. I had an hour or two to spare in town, so I ran down to Bradcross and looked up Mr and Mrs Steinherz’s marriage at St Mary Windicotes. It was there all right, but the queer thing is that some months ago a lady came and asked about it, and got a copy of the entry, and I’m pretty sure it was Miss Logan.”
“Exactly what I thought. How did you find out?”
“There was the paper pasted on the inside of the cover, just as Mr Steinherz said, and I tried one of the corners with my nail to see if it was loose. Then the clerk’s wife, who had been in a great state of excitement ever since she heard what entry I wanted to see, cried out, ‘Why, that’s just what the lady did as come here in the autumn!’ When I said, ‘What lady?’ she nearly had a fit, and refused point-blank to tell me anything, saying she wished she had bitten her tongue off before the words slipped out. I tried the usual persuasive, and assured her that I had the strongest possible reasons for wishing good and not harm to Mr and Mrs Bertram, as she called them, and their descendants, and at last I got it out of her that the lady was not old, and not very young, not a regular foreigner, but not quite English, and dressed very smartly,—‘fine enough for a carriage,’ the old woman said, which is just what every one here says about these two girls whenever they go out walking. Then she told me what her voice was like, and I couldn’t doubt for a moment that it was Miss Logan.”
“This is most interesting. When did you say it happened?”
“About six months ago, as far as I could make out. Either just before or just after Mr Steinherz’s death, I should think.”
“When she was in London, of course. Well, I am glad to have this cleared up. She told me a lame story of having been put on the track by some writing in an old prayer-book belonging to her mother, and said she had pieced together into a coherent whole things remembered from childhood and details picked up since.”
“She told you!”