The story of my first enquiries in Hampshire is soon told. Not a single person in the village of Blackwater could remember exactly when Sir Percival Glyde had left. Even the gardener at the house could only say it was some time in the last ten days of July.
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We were lucky. The farmer's wife did know the address, and wrote back by return to tell us. It was in London, not far from our rooms, and the next morning I was knocking at the door.
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"So, on to the next plan," I said to Marian back in London, "which is to pursue the secret. I need to talk to Anne Catherick's mother, but first I must find out something about her from Mrs Clements, Anne's friend. But how do I find Mrs Clements?"
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Marian had the answer to that. "You remember the farm she and Anne stayed at near Limmeridge? We'll write to them -- they might know Mrs Clements' address."
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"After leaving Limmeridge, sir," she said, "Anne and I went to live in the northeast of England, and that's when Anne started to suffer from heart disease. She wasn't at all well, but she insisted on travelling to Hampshire, because she wanted to speak to Lady Glyde. So we went there and stayed in a village near Blackwater -- not too close as Anne was so frightened of Sir Percival.
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Mrs Clements was anxious to know if I had brought her any news of Anne, and very sad to learn that I had not. However, she was willing to tell me everything she knew.
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"Each time Anne went to the lake to try to speak to Lady Glyde, I followed her at a distance. But the long walks made her so exhausted that she became ill again, so finally I went to the lake in her place to meet Lady Glyde. She didn't come that day, but a very fat man came instead with a message from her. The message was that we should return to London immediately, as Sir Percival would certainly find us if we stayed longer. Lady Glyde was going to London herself very soon and if we sent her our address, she would contact us."
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"But she didn't, did she?" I said, thinking how cleverly Count Fosco had lied to this kind woman.
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"No, sir. I found lodgings and sent the address to Lady Glyde, but after two weeks we'd still heard nothing. Then one day a lady called in a cab. She said she came from Lady Glyde, who was staying at a hotel and wanted to arrange an interview with Anne. I agreed to go with this lady to make the arrangement, leaving Anne alone in our lodgings. But it was a wicked plot, sir. On the way the lady stopped the cab, saying she just had to collect something from a shop and would I wait for a few minutes. She never came back, sir. I waited for some time, and then I hurried home -- and found Anne gone. Just disappeared."
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"That wasn't difficult," said Mrs Clements. "Mrs Catherick is a hard woman. She seemed to hate the child, and was only too pleased when I offered to bring her up. Then one day she took Anne to Limmeridge to stay with a sister, and after that she kept Anne from me. I didn't see Anne again till she escaped from the asylum -- with your help, sir. And then she was always talking about a secret her mother had which could ruin Sir Percival. But you know, sir, I don't think Anne really knew what this secret was. If she had known, I'm sure she would have told me."
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"I never found out what happened to Anne," Mrs Clements said sadly. "I made enquiries. I even wrote to her mother, but she didn't know anything. I miss poor Anne so much. She was like a daughter to me, you see, sir."
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I asked Mrs Clements to describe this "lady", and it seemed clear from her description that it was Madame Fosco. So I now knew how the Count had got Anne Catherick to London and separated her from Mrs Clements.
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"And I'm sure you were a kind mother to her," I said. "A better mother than her own mother."
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"Did you know Mrs Catherick before Anne was born?"
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I had wondered about that myself, and now I tried to turn the conversation on to Mrs Catherick.
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"Yes, for about four months. We were neighbours in Welmingham. Mr and Mrs Catherick had just got married, and Mr Catherick had a job as clerk at Welmingham church. Before that, Mrs Catherick had been a servant at a large house. She was a selfish, heartless woman, and treated her poor husband very badly. Before long, there was a lot of talk about her and a young gentleman, who was staying at a hotel nearby. And Mr Catherick told my husband that he'd found expensive presents, gold rings and suchlike, hidden in his wife's drawer."
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"You know him, sir. And so did my poor dear Anne."
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"And who was this gentleman?" I asked.
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"That's right. His father had recently died abroad, and Sir Percival had just arrived in the neighbourhood. People thought, you see, that maybe Mrs Catherick had known Sir Percival before, and had married Mr Catherick just to save her reputation, because of, well, you know… Anyway, one night Mr Catherick found his wife whispering with Sir Percival outside the vestry of the church. They had a fight, but Sir Percival beat him and Mr Catherick left the village, never to return again. And in spite of all the talk in the village, Mrs Catherick stayed. She said she was innocent and that no one would drive her away. But most people thought that the money she lived on came from Sir Percival."
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"Sir Percival Glyde?" My heart began to beat faster. Was I getting close to the secret?
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The secret was here somewhere. But where? That Sir Percival was Anne's father was hardly a secret since everyone already thought that. No, there was another mystery somewhere.
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"Well, sir, if you worked out time and place, it was obvious that Mr Catherick wasn't Anne's father. But Anne wasn't at all like Sir Percival; and nor was she like her mother."
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I wondered about the house where Mrs Catherick had worked as a servant. Perhaps I would make some enquiries later.
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"And what did you think, Mrs Clements?"
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"You've been very kind, Mrs Clements," I said, "answering all my questions. One last request. Will you tell me Mrs Catherick's address? I have to find out this secret, and only she can tell me."
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Mrs Clements gave me the address, but shook her head. "Take care, sir. She's an awful woman. You don't know her as I do."
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Back at our rooms I announced my intention to Marian of going to Welmingham. She was very uneasy about the plan.
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"Are you sure it's wise, Walter? Sir Percival is a violent man."
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"I'm more afraid for you and Laura," I said, "left alone in London, with the Count as your enemy."
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Her voice was as hard as the expression in her eyes. She pointed to a chair, and looked at me carefully as I sat down.
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"You know," I said, "that your daughter is lost?"
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We arranged to write to each other every day; and if no letter came from her, I would take the first train back to London.
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"Yes. Have you come to tell me that she is dead?"
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"I know that perfectly well."
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"Why?"
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"Don't you worry that she might not be just lost, but that she might have met with her death?"
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"I have."
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"I thought Anne's mother might be interested in knowing if she was alive or dead."
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Three days later I was standing in Mrs Catherick's sitting room, face to face with a grey-haired woman, dressed in black silk. Her dark eyes looked straight at me with a hard, cold stare.
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"You say you have come to speak to me about my daughter," she said. "Please say what you have to say."
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She asked that extraordinary question without the slightest change in her voice, face, or manner. I might have been talking about the death of a cat in the street.
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She did not react at all at the mention of his name.
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"Just so," she said. "But what is your interest in her, or in me? Have you no other reason for coming here?"
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"Yes, I do," I said. "Your daughter's death has caused someone I love to be harmed -- by a man called Sir Percival Glyde."
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"I want to make him confess to his crime. You know certain things about him from the time when your husband was the church clerk. I want you to tell me about them."
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At last I saw the anger burning in her eyes.
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"Mrs Clements is a foolish woman." She bit back her anger, and her lips curled in an unpleasant little smile. "Ah, I begin to understand. You want your revenge on Sir Percival Glyde, and you want my help. That's why you've come here. Well, you don't know me. I've spent years getting back my reputation in this village. Now everyone respects me. I won't help you."
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"Everything that Mrs Clements could tell me."
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"What do you know about those events?"
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"If you're afraid of Sir Percival, that's quite understandable," I said. "He's a powerful man, and comes from a great family --"
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"The secret between you and Sir Percival was not guilty love," I insisted. "It was something else that brought you and him to those stolen meetings outside the vestry of the church."
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To my amazement, she suddenly burst out laughing.
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"Go!" she said. "And never come back. Unless' -- and she gave a slow, cruel smile -- "unless you bring news of his death."
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"From a great family! Yes, indeed! Especially from his mother's side," she said with disgust.
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Whatever did she mean by that, I wondered?
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As I said the words "vestry of the church", I saw a wave of terror pass across her face.
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It was now late, and I made my way to the nearest hotel. There was much to think about. Why should mention of the church vestry cause terror? Why the disgust at Sir Percival's family, especially his mother? Was there something unusual about his parents' marriage? Perhaps the local marriage register was kept in the vestry of Welmingham church…
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The next day I went to the church. I had been aware of being followed the previous evening, and now I caught sight of the same two men I had seen outside Mr Kyrle's office in London. It seemed that Sir Percival had expected me to visit Mrs Catherick, and was now expecting me to visit Welmingham church -- proof, surely, that my investigation was going in the right direction.
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I found the church clerk, who fetched his keys and took me to the vestry. It could only be entered from the outside of the church, and the clerk had great difficulty opening the lock, which was very old. Once inside, I asked to see the marriage register. It was kept in a cupboard which could easily be forced open.
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"Safe enough," the clerk said. "A copy is kept by a lawyer in the next village -- Mr Wansborough's office in Knowlesbury."
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"Is that a safe enough place to keep the register?" I said.
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I worked backwards in the register from Sir Percival's year of birth and there, under September of the previous year, squashed into a small space at the bottom of the page, was the record of the marriage of Sir Felix Glyde and Cecilia Elster of Knowlesbury. Just the usual information. Nothing apparently peculiar about Sir Percival's mother. The secret seemed further away than ever.
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But on to Knowlesbury, and Mr Wansborough's office -- a five-mile walk, but possible to get there and back by the end of the day. It was worth checking the copy of the register, and perhaps the lawyer would know something that might be useful.
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