She's in London.

Scared, as I suppose, and have no doubt, by my representation when I waited upon her, that you were close at hand (which I, of course, urged only as an inducement to compliance, knowing that she was not pining to see you), she left that place, and travelled up to London.' 'How do you know ?' 'From my friend the noble captain--the illustrious general--the bladder, Mr Tappertit.

I learnt from him the last time I saw him, which was yesterday, that your son who is called Barnaby--not after his father, I suppose--' 'Death! does that matter now!' '-- You are impatient,' said the blind man, calmly; 'it's a good sign, and looks like life--that your son Barnaby had been lured away from her by one of his companions who knew him of old, at Chigwell; and that he is now among the rioters.' 'And what is that to me?
If father and son be hanged together, what comfort shall I find in that ?' 'Stay--stay, my friend,' returned the blind man, with a cunning look, 'you travel fast to journeys' ends.

Suppose I track my lady out, and say thus much: "You want your son, ma'am--good.

I, knowing those who tempt him to remain among them, can restore him to you, ma'am--good.