An hour later, the landlady at Miss Gwilt's lodgings was lost in
astonishment, and the clamorous tongues of the children were in
a state of ungovernable revolt. "Unforeseen circumstances" had
suddenly obliged the tenant of the first floor to terminate the
occupation of her apartments, and to go to London that day by the
eleven o'clock train.
"Please to have a fly at the door at half-past ten," said Miss
Gwilt, as the amazed landlady followed her upstairs. "And excuse
me, you good creature, if I beg and pray not to be disturbed till
the fly comes. "Once inside the room, she locked the door, and
then opened her writing-desk. "Now for my letter to the major!" she said. "How shall I word it?"
A moment's consideration apparently decided her. Searching
through her collection of pens, she carefully selected the worst
that could be found, and began the letter by writing the date
of the day on a soiled sheet of note-paper, in crooked, clumsy
characters, which ended in a blot made purposely with the feather
of the pen. Pausing, sometimes to think a little, sometimes to
make another blot, she completed the letter in these words:
"HON'D SIR—It is on my conscience to tell you something, which
I think you ought to know. You ought to know of the goings-on of
Miss, your daughter, with young Mister Armadale. I wish you to
make sure, and, what is more, I advise you to be quick about it, if she is going the way you want her to go, when she takes her morning walk before breakfast. I scorn to make mischief, where there is true love on both sides. But I don't think the young man means truly by Miss. What I mean is, I think Miss only has his fancy. Another person, who shall be nameless betwixt us, has his true heart. Please to pardon my not putting my name; I am only a humble person, and it might get me into trouble. This is all at present, dear sir, from yours,
"A WELL-WISHER."
"There!" said Miss Gwilt, as she folded the letter up. "If I had
been a professed novelist, I could hardly have written more
naturally in the character of a servant than that!" She wrote the
necessary address to Major Milroy; looked admiringly for the last
time at the coarse and clumsy writing which her own delicate hand
had produced; and rose to post the letter herself, before she
entered next on the serious business of packing up. "Curious!" she thought, when the letter had been posted, and she was back again making her traveling preparations in her own room; "here I am, running headlong into a frightful risk—and I never was in better spirits in my life!"
The boxes were ready when the fly was at the door, and Miss Gwilt
was equipped (as becomingly as usual) in her neat traveling
costume. The thick veil, which she was accustomed to wear in
London, appeared on her country straw bonnet for the first time." One meets such rude men occasionally in the railway," she said to the landlady. "And though I dress quietly, my hair is so very remarkable." She was a little paler than usual; but she had never been so sweet-tempered and engaging, so gracefully cordial and friendly, as now, when the moment of departure had come. The simple people of the house were quite moved at taking leave of her. She insisted on shaking hands with the landlord—on speaking to him in her prettiest way, and sunning him in her brightest smiles. "Come!" she said to the landlady, "you have been so kind, you have been so like a mother to me, you must give me a kiss at parting." She embraced the children all together in a lump, with a mixture of humor and tenderness delightful to see, and left a shilling among them to buy a cake. "If I was only rich enough to make it a sovereign," she whispered to the mother, "how glad I should be!" The awkward lad who ran on errands stood waiting at the fly door. He was clumsy, he was frowsy, he had a gaping mouth and a turn-up nose; but the ineradicable female delight in being charming accepted him, for all that, in the character of a last chance. "You dear, dingy John!" she said, kindly, at the carriage door. "I am so poor I have only sixpence to give you—with my very best wishes. Take my advice, John—grow to be a fine man, and find yourself a nice sweetheart! Thank you a thousand times!" She gave him a friendly little pat on the cheek with two of her gloved fingers, and smiled, and nodded, and got into the fly.
"Armadale next!" she said to herself as the carriage drove off.