never lived here,” was Judith’s reply; but the girl looked remarkably uneasy. Did she fear being asked questions which she could not answer?
“It could not have been Tom West that Clarice married,” said Lady Jane. “This note is dated March, and he sailed for India in February.”
“My ladies,” spoke up Judith, “I have inquired of my sister Margaret whether young Mr. West’s name was Thomas. She says it was not Thomas, but Robert; and she also says he was married several years ago to a Miss Pope, and they live somewhere in Gloucestershire.”
“Then that disposes of the affair so far as he is concerned,” cried Laura, with wondering eyes. “How much difficulty it appears to be encompassed with!”
“Not quite,” said Jane. “Robert West may have been a brother. Do you know, Judith? And do you know whether Robert was a surgeon?”
“Robert West was not in any profession, my lady. He was an independent gentleman. I don’t think he had a brother. Margaret says he had not.”
“Laura, I cannot rest,” said Jane, starting from a pause of thought. “I shall go now and speak to Mr. Carlton. I ought to have applied to him before.”
Causing her hair to be smoothed under one of her plain white net morning caps, Jane proceeded to the dining-parlour. Mr. Carlton was in an easy-chair before the fire, solacing himself with a cigar, which, as a visiting medical man, he only ventured on at night—and that not often. He threw it into the fire with a word of apology when he saw Lady Jane.
“Pardon me for disturbing you at this hour,” she said, taking the chair he offered, “but I am in great want of some information which I think you can afford me—very anxious about it, in short. Some years ago you were, I believe, intimate with a family living in Gloucester Terrace, Hyde Park, of the name of West. Can you tell me whether Tom West married my sister?”
No pen could adequately describe Mr. Carlton’s countenance. It was one sheet of blank consternation; first—as it appeared—at being charged with having known the Wests, next at being questioned about Lady Jane’s sister.
“I can’t tell anything about it,” he said at length.
“I hope you can, Mr. Carlton. Perhaps I have not been sufficiently explicit. You were a friend of Tom West’s, were you not?”
“I certainly knew him,” he replied, after a pause. “Not much; that is, it was but a passing acquaintance. He went out to India, and I believe died there.”
“Not much!” repeated Jane; “Mrs. West told me you were there frequently. You used to see her cousins there, and my sister. We have a suspicion that my sister married Thomas West. Were you cognisant of it?”
The same blank look reigned paramount in Mr. Carlton’s face.
“I really do not understand you, Lady Jane. I never saw a sister of yours at Mrs. West’s. What sister?”
“You saw Miss Beauchamp?”
He suddenly rose, and seizing hold of the poker, began knocking the fire about.
“Well?” said he.
“I speak of Miss Beauchamp. She was my sister.”
He turned sharply round, poker in hand.
“Miss Beauchamp! What farce is it that you wish to play me, Lady Jane?”
“No farce,” replied Jane, sadly. “She dropped our name when she went out as governess—not to disgrace it, she said —retaining only that of Beauchamp. She was our sister, Clarice Beauchamp Chesney.”
A strange expression was on Mr. Carlton’s face, but he kept it turned away from Lady Jane.
“We know that Clarice married,” proceeded Jane, “and we can only think she must have married Thomas West. Had he a brother Robert, do you know?”
“Had who a brother Robert?” asked Mr. Carlton.
“Tom West.”
“Tom West had no brother Robert, that I am aware of. I never knew any one of the name of Robert West.”
“What name did my sister go by when she was here, at South Wennock?” continued Jane. “You can tell that.”
“She never was at South Wennock.”
“Mr. Carlton! She was, and you must know it. She sent for you, did she not, to attend her the night she arrived: sent for you to Palace Street?”
Down clattered the poker. Was it an accident, or were Mr. Carlton’s hands shaking? As he stooped to pick it up, Jane caught a glimpse of his face: either it was unusually pale or the firelight deceived her. Another moment, and he had put the poker in its place, and was turning to Lady Jane and speaking quietly.
“I know nothing of your sister; nothing whatever. Why should you think I do?—why do you apply to me?”
The precise why and wherefore Jane could not answer, for she had given a hasty promise