When I next asked for the letter which Laura had written to Mrs Vesey from Blackwater Park, it was given to me without the envelope, which had been thrown into the wastepaper basket, and long since destroyed. In the letter itself no date was mentioned -- not even the day of the week. It only contained these lines: -- ‘Dearest Mrs Vesey, I am in sad distress and anxiety, and I may come to your house tomorrow night, and ask for a bed. I can't tell you what is the matter in this letter -- I write it in such fear of being found out that I can fix my mind on nothing. Pray be at home to see me. I will give you a thousand kisses, and tell you everything.
Your affectionate Laura.' What help was there in those lines? None.
On returning from Mrs Vesey's, I instructed Marian to write (observing the same caution which I practised myself) to Mrs Michelson. She was to express, if she pleased, some general suspicion of Count Fosco's conduct, and she was to ask the housekeeper to supply us with a plain statement of events, in the interests of truth. While we were waiting for the answer, which reached us in a week's time, I went to the doctor in St John's Wood, introducing myself as sent by Miss Halcombe to collect, if possible, more particulars of her sister's last illness than Mr Kyrle had found the time to procure. By Mr Goodricke's assistance, I obtained a copy of the certificate of death, and an interview with the woman (Jane Gould) who had been employed to prepare the body for the grave. Through this person I also discovered a means of communicating with the servant, Hester Pinhorn. She had recently left her place in consequence of a disagreement with her mistress, and she was lodging with some people in the neighbourhood whom Mrs Gould knew.
In the manner here indicated I obtained the Narratives of the housekeeper, of the doctor, of Jane Gould, and of Hester Pinhorn, exactly as they are presented in these pages.
Furnished with such additional evidence as these documents afforded, I considered myself to be sufficiently prepared for a consultation with Mr Kyrle, and Marian wrote accordingly to mention my name to him, and to specify the day and hour at which I requested to see him on private business.
There was time enough in the morning for me to take Laura out for her walk as usual, and to see her quietly settled at her drawing afterwards.
She looked up at me with a new anxiety in her face as I rose to leave the room, and her fingers began to toy doubtfully, in the old way, with the brushes and pencils on the table.
‘You are not tired of me yet?' she said. ‘You are not going away because you are tired of me? I will try to do better -- I will try to get well.
Are you as fond of me, Walter, as you used to be, now I am so pale and thin, and so slow in learning to draw?'
She spoke as a child might have spoken, she showed me her thoughts as a child might have shown them. I waited a few minutes longer -- waited to tell her that she was dearer to me now than she had ever been in the past times. ‘Try to get well again,' I said, encouraging the new hope in the future which I saw dawning in her mind, ‘try to get well again, for Marian's sake and for mine.'
‘Yes,' she said to herself, returning to her drawing. ‘I must try, because they are both so fond of me.' She suddenly looked up again. ‘Don't be gone long! I can't get on with my drawing, Walter, when you are not here to help me.'
‘I shall soon be back, my darling -- soon be back to see how you are getting on.'
My voice faltered a little in spite of me. I forced myself from the room. It was no time, then, for parting with the self-control which might yet serve me in my need before the day was out.
As I opened the door, I beckoned to Marian to follow me to the stairs.
It was necessary to prepare her for a result which I felt might sooner or later follow my showing myself openly in the streets.
‘I shall, in all probability, be back in a few hours,' I said, ‘and you will take care, as usual, to let no one inside the doors in my absence.
But if anything happens --'
‘What can happen?' she interposed quickly. ‘Tell me plainly, Walter, if there is any danger, and I shall know how to meet it.'
‘The only danger,' I replied, ‘is that Sir Percival Glyde may have been recalled to London by the news of Laura's escape. You are aware that he had me watched before I left England, and that he probably knows me by sight, although I don't know him?'
She laid her hand on my shoulder and looked at me in anxious silence.
I saw she understood the serious risk that threatened us.
‘It is not likely,' I said, ‘that I shall be seen in London again so soon, either by Sir Percival himself or by the persons in his employ. But it is barely possible that an accident may happen. In that case, you will not be alarmed if I fail to return tonight, and you will satisfy any inquiry of Laura's with the best excuse that you can make for me? If I find the least reason to suspect that I am watched, I will take good care that no spy follows me back to this house. Don't doubt my return, Marian, however it may be delayed -- and fear nothing.'
‘Nothing!' she answered firmly. ‘You shall not regret, Walter, that you have only a woman to help you.' She paused, and detained me for a moment longer. ‘Take care!' she said, pressing my hand anxiously -- ‘take care!'
I left her, and set forth to pave the way for discovery -- the dark and doubtful way, which began at the lawyer's door.