On Monday Langborough was amazed to find Mrs. Fairfax’s shop closed. She had left the town. She had taken a post-chaise on Saturday and had met the up-mail at Thaxton cross-roads. Her scanty furniture had disappeared. The carrier could but inform Langborough that he had orders to deliver her goods at Great Ormond Street whence he brought them. Mrs. Bingham went to London shortly afterwards and called at Great Ormond Street to inquire for Mrs. Fairfax. Nobody of that name lived there, and the door was somewhat abruptly shut in her face. She came back convinced that Mrs. Fairfax was what Mrs. Cobb called “a bad lot.”
“Do you believe,” said she, “that a woman who gives a false name can be respectable? We want no further proof.”
Nobody wanted further proof. No Langborough lady needed any proof if a reputation was to be blasted.
“It’s an _alibi_,” said Mrs. Harrop. “That’s what Tom Cranch the poacher did, and he was hung.”
“An _alias_, I believe, is the correct term,” said Miss Tarrant. “It means the assumption of a name which is not your own, a most discreditable device, one to which actresses and women to whose occupation I can only allude, uniformly resort. How thankful we ought to be that our respected Rector’s eyes must now be opened and that he has escaped the snare! It was impossible that he could be permanently attracted by vice and vulgarity. It is singular how much more acute a woman’s perception often is than a man’s. I saw through this creature at once.”
Eighteen months passed. The doctor one day was unpacking a book he had bought at Peterborough. Inside the brown paper was a copy of the _Stamford Mercury_, a journal which had a wide circulation in the Midlands. He generally read it, but he must have omitted to see this number. His eye fell on the following announcement—“On the 24th June last, Richard Leighton, aged 44 years.” The notice was late, for the date of the paper was the 18th November. The next afternoon he was in London. He had been to Great Ormond Street before and had inquired for Mrs. Fairfax, but could find no trace of her. He now called again.
“You will remember,” he said, “my inquiry about Mrs. Fairfax: can you tell me anything about Mrs. Leighton?” He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out five shillings.