The Real Charlotte - Edith Somerville [164]
“H’m! They’re of a very bilious complexion,” she said to herself. “There’s one from Langford,” turning it over and looking at the name on the back. “I wonder if he’s ordering a Victoria for her ladyship. I wouldn’t put it past him. Perhaps he’d like me to tell her whose money it was paid Langford’s bill last year!”
She fingered the letter longingly, then, taking a hair-pin from the heavy coils of her hair, she inserted it under the flap of the envelope. Under her skilful manipulation it opened easily, and without tearing, and she took out its contents. They consisted of a short but severe letter from the head of the firm, asking for “a speedy settlement of this account, now so long overdue,” and of the account in question. It was a bill of formidable amount, from which Charlotte soon gathered the fact that twenty pounds only of the money she had lent Lambert last May had found its way into the pockets of the coachbuilder. She replaced the bill and letter in the envelope, and, after a minute of consideration, took up for the second time two large and heavy letters that she had thrown aside when first looking through the heap. They had the stamp of the Lismoyle bank upon them, and obviously contained bank books. Charlotte saw at a glance that the hair-pin would be of no avail with these envelopes, and after another pause for deliberation she replaced all the letters in their original position, and went down the passage to the top of the kitchen stairs.
“Eliza,” she called out, “have ye a kettle boiling down there? Ah, that’s right—” as Eliza answered in the affirmative. “I never knew a well kept kitchen yet without boiling water in it! I’m chilled to me bones, Eliza,” she continued, “I wonder could you put your hand on a drop of spirits anywhere, and I’d ask ye for a drop of hot grog to keep the life in me, and” —as Eliza started with hospitable speed in search of the materials,—”let me mix it meself, like a good woman; I know very well I’d be in the lock-up before night if I drank what you’d brew for me!”
Retiring on this jest, Miss Mullen returned to the study, and was sitting over the fire with a newspaper when the refreshment she had asked for was brought in.
“I cut ye a sandwich to eat with it, miss,” said Eliza Hackett, on whom Charlotte’s generosity in the matter of Mrs. Lambert’s clothing had not been thrown away; “I know meself that as much as the smell itself o’ sperrits would curdle under me nose, takin’ them on an empty stomach. Though, indeed, if ye walked Lismoyle ye’d get no better brandy than what’s in that little bottle. ‘Tis out o’ the poor mistress’s medicine chest I got it. Well, well, she’s where she won’t want brandy now!”
Eliza withdrew a well-ordered sig, that, as Charlotte knew, was expressive of future as well as past regret, and Mr. Lambert’s “oldest friend” was left in sole possession of his study. She first proceeded to mix herself a tumbler of brandy and water, and then she lifted the lid of the brass punch kettle, and taking one of the envelopes that contained the bank books she held it in the steam till the gum of the flap melted. The book in it was Lambert’s private banking account, and Charlotte studied it for some time with greedy interest, comparing the amounts of the drafts and cash payments with the dates against each. Then she opened the other envelope, keeping a newspaper ready at hand to throw over the books in case of interruption, and found, as she had anticipated, that it was the bank book of the Dysart estate. After this she settled down to hard work for half an hour, comparing one book with another, making lists of figures, sipping her brandy and water meanwhile, and munching Eliza Hackett’s sandwiches. Having learned what she could of the bank books, she fastened them up in their envelopes, and, again having recourse to the kettle that was simmering on the hob, she made, with slow, unslaked avidity, an examination of some of the