I hope, therefore, my brethren, that you will give
liberally."
On Monday Langborough was amazed to find Mrs. Fairfax's shop closed.
She had left the town. She had taken a post-chaise on Saturday and had
met the up-mail at Thaxton cross-roads. Her scanty furniture had
disappeared. The carrier could but inform Langborough that he had
orders to deliver her goods at Great Ormond Street whence he brought
them. Mrs. Bingham went to London shortly afterwards and called at
Great Ormond Street to inquire for Mrs. Fairfax. Nobody of that name
lived there, and the door was somewhat abruptly shut in her face. She
came back convinced that Mrs. Fairfax was what Mrs. Cobb called "a bad
lot."
"Do you believe," said she, "that a woman who gives a false name can be
respectable? We want no further proof."
Nobody wanted further proof. No Langborough lady needed any proof if a
reputation was to be blasted.
"It's an alibi," said Mrs. Harrop. "That's what Tom Cranch the poacher
did, and he was hung."
"An alias, I believe, is the correct term," said Miss Tarrant.
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