When she left the train at the Hamworth station she was solicited by the driver of a public vehicle to use his fly, and having ascertained from the man that he well knew the position of Orley Farm, she got into the carriage and had herself driven to the residence of her hated rival. She had often heard of Orley Farm, but she had never as yet seen it, and now felt considerable anxiety both as regards the house and its occupant.
“This is Orley Farm, ma’am,” said the man, stopping at the gate. “Shall I drive up?”
But at this moment the gate was opened by a decent, respectable woman—Mrs. Furnival would not quite have called her a lady—who looked hard at the fly as it turned on to the private road.
“Perhaps this lady could tell me,” said Mrs. Furnival, putting out her hand. “Is this where Lady Mason lives?”
The woman was Mrs. Dockwrath. On that day Samuel Dockwrath had gone to London, but before starting he had made known to his wife with fiendish glee that it had been at last decided by all the persons concerned that Lady Mason should be charged with perjury, and tried for that offence.
“You don’t mean to say that the judges have said so?” asked poor Miriam.
“I do mean to say that all the judges in England could not save her from having to stand her trial, and it is my belief that all the lawyers in the land cannot save her from conviction. I wonder whether she ever thinks now of those fields which she took away from me!”
Then, when her master’s back was turned, she put on her bonnet and walked up to Orley Farm. She knew well that Lady Mason was at The Cleeve, and believed that she was about to become the wife of Sir Peregrine; but she knew also that Lucius was at home, and it might be well to let him know what was going on. She had just seen Lucius Mason when she was met by Mrs. Furnival’s fly. She had seen Lucius Mason, and the angry manner in which he declared that he could in no way interfere in his mother’s affairs had frightened her. “But, Mr. Lucius,” she had said, “she ought to be doing something, you know. There is no believing how bitter Samuel is about it.”
“He may be as bitter as he likes, Mrs. Dockwrath,” young Mason had answered with considerable dignity in his manner. “It will not in the least affect my mother’s interests. In the present instance, however, I am not her adviser.” Whereupon Mrs. Dockwrath had retired, and as she was afraid to go to Lady Mason at The Cleeve, she was about to return home when she opened the gate for Mrs. Furnival. She then explained that Lady Mason was not at home and had not been at home for some weeks; that she was staying with her friends at The Cleeve, and that in order to get there Mrs. Furnival must go back through Hamworth and round by the high road.
“I knows the way well enough, Mrs. Dockwrath,” said the driver. “I’ve been at The Cleeve before now, I guess.”
So Mrs. Furnival was driven back to Hamworth, and on going over that piece of ground she resolved that she would follow Lady Mason to The Cleeve. Why should she be afraid of Sir Peregrine Orme or of all the Ormes? Why should she fear anyone while engaged in the performance of so sacred a duty? I must confess that in truth she was very much afraid, but nevertheless she had herself taken on to The Cleeve. When she arrived at the door, she asked of course for Lady Mason, but did not feel at all inclined to follow the servant uninvited into the house as recommended by Miss Biggs. Lady Mason, the man said, was not very well, and after a certain amount of parley at the door the matter ended in her being shown into the drawing-room, where she was soon joined by Mrs. Orme.
“I am Mrs. Furnival,” she began, and then Mrs. Orme begged her to sit down. “I have come here to see Lady Mason—on some business—some business not of a very pleasant nature. I’m sure I don’t know how to trouble you with it, and yet—” And then even Mrs. Orme could see that her visitor was somewhat confused.
“Is it about the trial?” asked Mrs. Orme.
“Then there is really a lawsuit going on?”
“A lawsuit!” said Mrs. Orme, rather puzzled.
“You said something about a trial. Now, Mrs. Orme, pray do not deceive me. I’m a very unhappy woman; I am indeed.”
“Deceive you! Why should I deceive you?”
“No, indeed. Why should you? And now I look at you I do not think you will.”
“Indeed I will not, Mrs. Furnival.”
“And there is really a lawsuit then?” Mrs. Furnival persisted in asking.
“I thought you would know all about it,” said Mrs. Orme, “as Mr. Furnival manages Lady Mason’s law business. I thought that perhaps it was about that that you had come.”
Then Mrs. Furnival explained that she knew nothing whatever about Lady Mason’s affairs, that hitherto she had not believed that there was any trial or any lawsuit, and gradually explained the cause of all her trouble. She did not do this without sundry interruptions, caused both by her own feelings and by Mrs. Orme’s exclamations. But at last it all came forth; and before she had done she was calling her husband Tom, and appealing to her listener for sympathy.
“But indeed it’s a mistake, Mrs. Furnival. It is indeed. There are reasons which make me quite sure
