The Real Charlotte, 313 



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 with a well-ordered sigh, 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 hfted 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 other letters on the 

 table. When everything was tidy again she leaned back in 

 the chair, and remained in deep meditation over her paper 

 of figures, until the dining-room cloak sent a muffled re- 

 minder through the wall that it was two o'clock. 



Ferry Row had, since Charlotte's change of residence, 

 breathed a freer air. Even her heavy washing was now 

 done at home, and her visits to her tenantry might be looked 

 forward to only when rents were known to be due. There 



