“Why did she give warning? From what cause?”
“She did not say what, and I could not draw it from her. Miss Beauchamp was invariably reserved as to her private affairs, her family and all that; though open as the day in regard to general matters. All she said was, that she wished to leave; and when I pressed her to state frankly whether there was anything in my house that she disliked or wished altered, she answered that she was perfectly happy in it; and, but for compelling circumstances (I remember the expression still; ‘compelling circumstances'), should not have thought of leaving it.”
“And did she quit it instantly; that day; as she had Mrs. Lorton’s?”
“No no,” said Mrs. West. It was a month’s warning that she gave me, and she remained until its close. Then she left us.”
“Where did she go then?”
“We never knew. There appeared, as it seemed to us, some little mystery connected with it—though in truth that may have been but fancy on our part. Many a governess when quitting her situation does not deem it necessary to proclaim her future movements to those she leaves behind her.”
“In what way did there seem to be a mystery connected with it?” asked Jane.
“Well, I can hardly describe it to you,” was the frank reply. “We fancied it chiefly, I believe, from Miss Beauchamp’s entire silence as to her future proceedings. I told her I should be happy to be referred to; but she replied that she had no intention of taking another situation, and therefore should not require a reference.”
“What was she going to do then?” asked Jane, in amazement.
“I am unable to say. I remember we wondered much at the time. She had never spoken of her family, and we picked up the notion, though it may not have been a correct one, that she was without relatives. An impression arose amongst us that she was going to be married.”
“To be married?” echoed Jane, her pulses quickening.
“We had no real cause to think it,” continued Mrs. West. “I put the question to her, I remember, whether she was about to take up her abode with relatives, and she laughed and said No, she was going to embark in a new way of life altogether.”
“It is very strange!” exclaimed Lady Jane. “Do you not know where she went when she quitted your house?—where she drove to, for instance? Whether she went into the next street—whether she went into the country?—in short, what her immediate movements were?”
“I would tell you in a moment if I knew; but I never have known,” replied Mrs. West. “She went away in a cab with her luggage, not stating where. We thought it strange that she should preserve to us this reticence; we had been so very intimate together. We all liked Miss Beauchamp very much indeed, and had treated her entirely as a friend.”
“Did she seem to be in good spirits when she left you?”
“Quite so; she was as gay as possible, and said she should come back and see us some time. You seem very anxious,” added Mrs. West, noting her visitor’s perplexed brow.
“I am indeed anxious,” was the answer. “How long do you say this was ago?”
“It was last June. Twelve months ago exactly.”
“And you have never since seen her or heard from her?”
“Never at all. We have often wondered what has become of her.”
“I must find her,” exclaimed Jane, in some excitement. “As to her having married, that is most improbable; she would not be likely to enter on so grave a step without the knowledge of her family. At least, I—I—should think she would not,” added Jane, as a remembrance of Laura’s disobedient marriage arose to her mind, rendering her less confident. “I may as well tell you who Miss Beauchamp is,” she resumed; there is no reason why I should not. My father, a gentleman born and highly connected, was very poor. There were four daughters of us at home, and Clarice, the third———”
“Then—I beg your pardon—you are Miss Beauchamp’s sister?” interrupted Mrs. West, quickly.
“Yes. Clarice took a sudden determination to go out as governess. She had been highly educated, and so far was well qualified; but her family were entirely against it. Clarice persisted; she had but one motive to this, the lessening expenses at home: a good one, of course, but my father could not be brought to see it. He said she would disgrace her family name; that he would not have a daughter of his out in the world—a Chesney working for her bread; Clarice replied that no disgrace should accrue to the name through her, and she, in spite of all our opposition, quitted home. She went, I find, to the Lortons first, calling herself Miss Beauchamp; she had been christened Clarice Beauchamp; Clarice, after her great-aunt, the Countess of Oakburn; Beauchamp after her godfather.
“Then she is not Miss Beauchamp?”
