As some compensation for this second matrimonial disaster, Godfrey had
soon afterwards found himself the object of fond pecuniary remembrance,
on the part of one of his many admirers. A rich old lady--highly
respected at the Mothers' Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society, and a
great friend of Miss Clack's (to whom she left nothing but a mourning
ring)--had bequeathed to the admirable and meritorious Godfrey a legacy
of five thousand pounds. After receiving this handsome addition to his
own modest pecuniary resources, he had been heard to say that he felt
the necessity of getting a little respite from his charitable labours,
and that his doctor prescribed "a run on the Continent, as likely to
be productive of much future benefit to his health." If I wanted to see
him, it would be advisable to lose no time in paying my contemplated
visit.
I went, then and there, to pay my visit.
The same fatality which had made me just one day too late in calling on
Sergeant Cuff, made me again one day too late in calling on Godfrey. He
had left London, on the previous morning, by the tidal train, for Dover.
He was to cross to Ostend; and his servant believed he was going on to
Brussels. The time of his return was rather uncertain; but I might be
sure he would be away at least three months.
I went back to my lodgings a little depressed in spirits. Three of
the guests at the birthday dinner--and those three all exceptionally
intelligent people--were out of my reach, at the very time when it was
most important to be able to communicate with them. My last hopes now
rested on Betteredge, and on the friends of the late Lady Verinder
whom I might still find living in the neighbourhood of Rachel's country
house.
On this occasion, I travelled straight to Frizinghall--the town being
now the central point in my field of inquiry. I arrived too late in the
evening to be able to communicate with Betteredge. The next morning, I
sent a messenger with a letter, requesting him to join me at the hotel,
at his earliest convenience.
Having taken the precaution--partly to save time, partly to accommodate
Betteredge--of sending my messenger in a fly, I had a reasonable
prospect, if no delays occurred, of seeing the old man within less than
two hours from the time when I had sent for him. During this interval, I
arranged to employ myself in opening my contemplated inquiry, among the
guests present at the birthday dinner who were personally known to
me, and who were easily within my reach. These were my relatives, the
Ablewhites, and Mr. Candy. The doctor had expressed a special wish to
see me, and the doctor lived in the next street. So to Mr. Candy I went
first.
After what Betteredge had told me, I naturally anticipated finding
traces in the doctor's face of the severe illness from which he had
suffered. But I was utterly unprepared for such a change as I saw in him
when he entered the room and shook hands with me. His eyes were dim;
his hair had turned completely grey; his face was wizen; his figure
had shrunk. I looked at the once lively, rattlepated, humorous
little doctor--associated in my remembrance with the perpetration of
incorrigible social indiscretions and innumerable boyish jokes--and
I saw nothing left of his former self, but the old tendency to vulgar
smartness in his dress. The man was a wreck; but his clothes and his
jewellery--in cruel mockery of the change in him--were as gay and as
gaudy as ever.