# Elizabeth's Pretenders/Part 1/Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII.
Mr. Joshua Twisden was hardly dressed that morning, in the room adjoining his office, when he received a telegram—
Will be with you at three o'clock to-day.—Elizabeth Shaw."
And at this hour, having deposited her Iuggage with her maid at the Midland Hotel, and swallowed a hasty lunch, Elizabeth appeared at Gray's Inn. Business had called George Daintree away this afternoon, and it was one of the clerks who received and ushered her into the inner room, where Mr. Twisden sat. His right foot, in splinters, rested on a stool. He made an effort to rise, but she stopped him, putting both her hands in his.
"You must not treat me as a stranger, dear Mr Twisden. My father often spoke of you, and used to say you were his best friend, so that I feel as if I knew you well, instead of only having seen you once. You mustn't treat me with formality, therefore."
"My dear young lady," said the old man, with a glow of pleasure on his shrewd, kindly face, "it is a great satisfaction to know that you feel disposed to accord me the same confidence—I may say the same ​regard—your excellent father did. I had the truest respect and friendship for him. He was a fine specimen of a man."
"He was—he was, Mr. Twisden. I believe, at this moment, I should think all mankind vile if I did not remember him."
He looked at her keenly from under his shaggy grey eyebrows. What did this portend? He cleared his throat, and said slowly—
"You are too young to be a pessimist; but you can't think of your father too highly. You may depend on it that, as his daughter, you will always find a true friend in me. I am glad you have come, and alone. I can talk to you more freely than if your uncle or any one were with you. He tells me you are engaged to be married, and—"
"That engagement is at an end, Mr. Twisden."
"Indeed?" He paused. "Well, I cannot say I am sorry to hear it. You are full young to marry."
They exchanged swift glances, like the clash of two rapiers crossing. Then she said quickly—
"Have you any other reason for being glad?"
"If you will tell me first whether your affections were very deeply engaged in this affair, I will answer your question."
"My affections were not deeply engaged. I may have thought so for a few hours. I was mistaken, like many another idiot. My only feeling for Colonel Wybrowe now is—abhorrence."
"I may then speak freely. I have heard a good deal about the gentleman, and nothing to his credit. When I learnt of your engagement I was distressed, and cast ​about in my mind how I could warn you as to the character of Colonel Wybrowe. Your uncle wrote of him as his 'friend.' It was difficult to tell him all I had heard of his friend, and I knew my communication would be regarded as an impertinence by Mrs. Shaw, who exercises, I am aware, so great an influence over him. Still, I felt it to be my duty, as your poor father's friend, to write to your uncle; but I had so little confidence in my letter being of any avail, that I also wrote to you direct, asking for this interview. As one of your trustees, of course I should take good care that your money was carefully tied up now; but I feared, if this marriage was to take place, that you might be induced to sign a promise to pay the colonel's debts when you came into the sole control of your property."
"You may dismiss that fear." The girl smiled bitterly for a moment. "I have other things to talk to you about, that more nearly affect my future. I left Farley this morning, unknown to my uncle—unknown to any one. In short, the truth is, I have escaped from my uncle's house, never to return."
There was a pause, before he said slowly—
"Why? Not because you have broken your engagement?"
"Do not ask me why, Mr. Twisden. I cannot tell you. It is enough that I can never return. The past is past. I want to put it away from my mind as much as possible, and you must help me. Not by your counsel—no, by your help. I have taken a horror of my life, and everything belonging to it, at Farley. The only thing for me is to get rid of it all—to have such a ​complete change of interests and surroundings as may enable me to forget. I want to work hard at painting. I have always wanted this ever since I was a child, and I can do so nowhere so well as in Paris. Then, not a soul knows me there. I can lead my own life, unmolested—which I couldn't do in London."
"But," interrupted the old solicitor, "whom are you going with?"
"No one."
"Then who are you going to? You don't mean to tell me you propose living in Paris all alone?"
"I shall go into a 'pension.'"
"You surely mean to take a maid with you?"
"Oh, that would spoil it all! I want to be unknown; above all, that the fact of my disgusting fortune, which has brought me such misery already, should be unknown. If I had a maid, you know very well this could never be the case."
"Does your uncle know of this project?"
"Certainly not—at present. You will have to break it to him, later."
"But he is your guardian. If only for form's sake, you must consult——— Well, if you prefer it, you must tell him of your determination. You cannot leave his house, and run off abroad, without a word."
"The case is exceptional," said the girl, looking at him straight in the face, "and must be treated exceptionally. I can't see my uncle. I can't tell him why I leave his house—why I escape from England. I come to you because you were my father's friend, and he told me to trust you. I need not have come. I could have gone ​straight abroad, and I doubt if my uncle would have set detectives to track me. No, he will rest satisfied if you tell him that I am safe, and that he had better humour my whim of living in obscurity for a time. Perhaps, some day, I must return to live at my own home, Whiteburn; but not at present. I want to work hard, and be unknown for some years."
Mr. Twisden looked perplexed. He drummed his fingers on the writing-table for a minute or two, before he said—
"You place me in a very awkward position, my dear Miss Shaw. I am anxious to do all I can to help you. But do you not see that your uncle may very reasonably come down upon me for not instantly telegraphing to him that you are here, having left his roof, and that you are about to quit the country?"
"My uncle is absent from home. The telegram will be opened by his wife, and it will not be forwarded. She will keep back the fact of my departure till he returns, to-morrow or next day—by which time I shall be in Paris. I have written to him, saying I should come to you; and that you would know where I was, but that I desired it to be a secret. I think he will be satisfied—that he will not urge you to reveal it. Indeed, you must promise me not to do so, otherwise I should not write to you, as I intend to do, from time to time."
The old lawyer shook his head. "I think you misjudge your uncle. Mr. William Shaw is not clever; he is not a man of much decision of character—too easily influenced by others, I apprehend; but I cannot believe he would relinquish the responsibilities of his guardianship so lightly."
​Elizabeth bit her lips. "Mr. Twisden, I must speak plainly. It will be the interest of those who can influence him to prevent his following me, or making any other inquiries than through you. He will be reminded that I was always a strange, erratic, wilful girl, and that to attempt to coerce me would only cause an open scandal. Write to him by all means—I wish you to do so. You will find that he is only too ready to allow his responsibility to devolve upon you."
"But—but I am not sure that I am ready to undertake the responsibility. It is really not a matter to be settled in this offhand way. If you were going with a—a sort of duenna, or aged companion, it would be different; but, at your age, to fly off to Paris, alone—no, my dear Miss Shaw, pray think better of it. I cannot be party to such a thing—I cannot, indeed."
"Then you will deprive me of the comfort of writing to you—that is all. You will snap the one link with the past for some years to come."
"But do pray think of how the world will regard such an unheard-of step! "
"The world need know nothing of it. I have left Farley. I am visiting, or I have gone abroad. That is all they need learn."
Mr. Twisden looked really distressed. "Take your maid with you. Do oblige me so far. Let me be able to tell your uncle that. When you have settled where you will live, you can send her back, if you insist on the strange fancy of being unknown; but, at least, let her travel with you, and remain with you until you are settled in some respectable house."
​Elizabeth shook her head, and would probably have remained obdurate, had he not laid his hand upon hers, and added—
"Remember, I knew your father so well, my dear young lady; I am so very sure of what his wishes would have been in such a case. I do not ask what your motives are for taking this extraordinary step. But since you are resolved to take it, let it be done so as to give as little cause for scandal as possible. If you dismiss your maid now, what will be the result? She will return to Farley, and the news of your going abroad by yourself will be all over the county in a week. In Paris it will be easy to devise some pretext for dismissing her, with a handsome present. Her boxes can be sent from Farley here, so that she need not return there, and be tempted to gossip."
"Very well"—Elizabeth was always rapid in her decisions—"to satisfy you, I will take the girl with me, and keep her until I have decided where I will live. I shall then send her home, and no one but you must know where I am. I shall let the girl believe that I am going to travel with friends. And if I promise to write to you once a month, Mr. Twisden, you, on your part, must promise to divulge my address to no one?"
A smile flitted across his face. "You have me in such a corner, I have no choice in the matter. I must submit to your conditions, I see, or not hear from you at all."
"Yes; you must submit to my conditions, because I wish to be independent of every one."
"But is there no alternative to this sudden resolve of yours? An excellent, high-principled, and able young ​man of high degree was speaking of you to me most warmly a few days ago."
"Oh! you mean Lord Robert Elton. Tell him I am ruined, and see how warmly he would speak of me then! They are all alike, Mr. Twisden—all alike."
"No, they are not all alike. The duke and duchess are anxious for their son to marry, and he must marry money: that is true. But unless they approved of you———"
"They have never seen me!"
"They have heard much of you, and were anxious Lord Robert should know you, and judge for himself. He has done so. He said to me, 'I have never seen any girl who attracted me so much. If she had not a penny I should say the same; but I should know then it was impossible to make her my wife.' It is possible, and I mean to leave no stone unturned to enable me to succeed."
"You must not help him to turn that stone, Mr. Twisden. Lord Robert is not—never can be—the solution of my difficulty. I don't want to marry. If an angel were to descend in man's shape at this moment, I would not marry him!" she said vehemently.
The old lawyer smiled. "I should not expect an angel to be much in your line. But Lord Robert is not an angel. He is an upright and able man, sure to make his mark in public life, and well-calculated, as far as I can judge, to make a woman happy."
"Oh, I dare say! That depends on the woman. He wouldn't make me happy. No man ever will, Mr. Twisden. I am never going to fall in love, or fancy that I am in love, again. I should like to get away from ​all men. I should like to go off to the desert, and live quite alone, if it were not for my painting. That keeps me to the cities. But I must live there in obscurity. Do you understand?"
"Not exactly; but still, I see your present mood. I hope heartily it will soon pass. At your age one recovers from any shock, if one has health and a well-balanced mind. You certainly have one; you should, as your father's child, have the other."
"I am afraid I have not," said Elizabeth, rising, and pushing back the hair from her pale face. "I hope it may regain its balance; at present all seems weighed down to one side—deep in the trough of the sea! Good-bye. Write to my uncle. Say all you can to tranquillize him. I am not so mad as I seem. Tell him that. You shall hear from me as soon as ever I am settled."
She shook his hand warmly, passed swiftly through the outer office, and downstairs, without observing the face of the young man who made way for her to pass him.
She with her maid took the mail-train to Paris that night.