CHAPTER II
FRIENDS OR QUONDAM FRIENDS
Mother used to say that there were times when her daughter Westenraswept her right off her feet.
"I can no more resist you," she used to remark on these occasions,"than if you were a great flood bearing me along."
Perhaps never did mother find my power so strong, so determined as onthe present occasion. It was in vain for her, poor darling, to speakof our friends, of those dear, nice, good people who had loved fatherand for his sake were good to his widow. I had my answer ready.
"It is just this, mother," I said, "what we do will cause agleaning--a sifting--amongst our friends. Those who are worth keepingwill stay with us, those who are not worth keeping will leave us. Andnow do you know what I mean to do? I mean this morning, with yourleave, to order the carriage, the carriage which we must put down atthe end of the week, but which we can certainly keep for the nextcouple of days, and go round to our friends and tell them what we areabout to do."
"You must go alone then, Westenra, for I cannot go with you."
"Just as you please, mother. I would rather you had the courage; butstill, never mind, darling, I will do it by myself."
Mother looked at me in despair.
"How old are you?" she said suddenly.
"You know quite well," I replied, "I was twenty-one a month ago."
Mother shook her head sadly.
"If you really intend to carry out this awful idea, West, you mustconsider youth a thing of the past," she said.
I smiled and patted her cheek.
"Nothing of the sort," I answered; "I mean to be young and vigorousand buoyant and hopeful as long as I have you with me, so there! Now,may I ring the bell and tell Paul to desire Jenkins to bring thevictoria round at eleven o'clock?"
Mother could not refuse, and having executed this order I sat downwith considerable appetite to breakfast. I was really enjoying myselfvastly.
Punctual to the hour, I stepped into our pretty carriage. First of allI would visit my dear old godmother, the Duchess of Wilmot.
Accordingly, early as it was, I told Jenkins to drive me to theDuchess's house in Park Lane. When we drew up at the house I jumpedout, ran up the steps and sounded the bell. The man who opened thedoor informed me that her Grace was at home to no one at so early anhour.
I thought for a moment, then I scribbled something on a little pieceof paper.
"Dear Duchess," I said, "I want to see you particularly, the matter is very urgent.--Your god-daughter,
WESTENRA WICKHAM."
This I twisted up and gave to the man.
"Give that to her Grace, I will wait to see if there is an answer," Isaid.
He came down in a moment or two.
"Her Grace will see you, Miss Wickham," he said.
I entered the house, and following the footman up some winding stairsand down some corridors, I was shown into the small boudoir where theDuchess generally sat in the morning. She was fully dressed, andbusily writing notes.
"That will do, Hartop," she said to the man; "close the door, please.Now then, Westenra, what is the meaning of this? What eccentric whimhas induced you to visit me at so early an hour?"
"I wanted to tell you something," I said; "mother is awfullydistressed, but I thought you had better know."
"How queer you look, my child, and yet I seldom saw you brighter orhandsomer. Take off your hat and sit near me. No, I am not speciallybusy. Is it about the Russells' reception? Oh, I can take you if yourmother is not strong enough. You want to consult me over your dress?Oh, my dear Westenra, you must wear----"
"It has nothing to do with that," I interrupted. "Please let me speak.I want to say something so badly. I want to consult you."
"Of course," said her Grace.
She laid her jewelled hand on my arm. How I loved that white hand! HowI adored my beautiful old friend! It would be painful to give her up.Was she going to give me up?
"I will tell you something quite frankly," I said. "I love you verymuch; you have always been kind to me."
"I am your godmother, don't forget."
"A great trouble has come to us."
"A great trouble, my dear, what do you mean?"
"Mother thinks it a fearful trouble, and I suppose it is, but anyhowthere are two ways of taking it. There is the sinking-down way, whichmeans getting small and poor and thin, anaemic, in short, and there isthe bold way, the sort of way when you stand up to a thing, you knowwhat I mean."
"You are talking school-boy language. My grandson Ralph wouldunderstand you; he is here; do you want to see him? I am a little toobusy for riddles, Westenra."
"Oh! I do beg your pardon. I know I am taking a great liberty: no oneelse would come to you at so early an hour."
"Well, speak, my dear."
"We have lost our money."
"Lost your money!" cried the Duchess.
"Yes; everything, or nearly everything. It was through some badinvestments, and mother was not at all to blame. But we have nothingleft, or nearly nothing--I mean we have a hundred and fifty a-year,about the price of one of your dresses."
"Don't be personal, Westenra--proceed."
"Mother wants to live in a cottage in the country."
"I do not see how she could possibly do it," said the Duchess. "Acottage in the country! Why, on that pittance she could scarcelyafford a workman's cottage, but I will speak to my friends; somethingmust be arranged immediately. Your dear, lovely, fragile mother! Wemust get her a suite of apartments at Hampton Court. Oh! my poorchild, this is terrible."
"But we do not choose to consider it terrible," I replied, "nor willwe be beholden to the charity of our friends. Now, here is the gist ofthe matter. I have urged mother to take a house in Bloomsbury."
"Bloomsbury?" said the Duchess a little vaguely.
"Oh, please Duchess, you must know. Bloomsbury is a very nice, healthypart of the town. There are big Squares and big houses; the BritishMuseum is there--now, you know."
"Oh, of course, that dreary pile, and you would live close to it. Butwhy, why? Is it a very cheap neighbourhood?"
"By no means; but city men find it convenient, and women who work fortheir living like it also, and country folks who come to town for ashort time find it a good centre. So we mean to go there, and--andmake money. We will take our furniture and make the house attractiveand--and take paying guests. We will keep a boarding-house. Now youknow."
I stood up. There was a wild excited feeling all over me. The mostdaring flight of imagination could never associate the graciousDuchess of Wilmot with a lodging-house keeper, and mother had alwayshitherto been the Duchess's equal. I had never before felt _distrait_or nervous in the Duchess's presence, but now I knew that there was agulf between us--that I stood on one side of the gulf and the Duchesson the other. I stretched out my hands imploringly.
"I know you will never speak to me again, you never can, it is not tobe thought of. This is good-bye, for we must do it. I see youunderstand. Mother said that it would part us from our friends, and Ithought she was wrong, but I see now that she was right. This isgood-bye."
Before she could prevent me I dropped on my knees and raised thejewelled hand to my lips, and kissed it passionately.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Westenra," said the Duchess then, "don't gointo hysterics, nor talk in that wild way. Sit down again quietly,dear, and tell me what sort of person is a boarding-house keeper."
Her tone made me smile, and relieved the tension.
"Don't you really know?" I asked; "did you never hear of people whotake paying guests? They swarm at the seaside, and charge exorbitantprices."
"Oh, and rob you right and left," said the Duchess; "yes, my friendshave told me of such places. As a rule I go to hotels by preference,but do you mean, Westenra, that your mother is going to live inapartments for the future?"
"No, no," I answered wildly; "she will have a house, and she and I,both of us, will fill it with what they call paying guests. Peopl
ewill come and live with us, and pay us so much a week, and we willprovide rooms for them, and food for them, and they will sit with usin the drawing-room and, and--_perhaps_ we will have to amuse them alittle."
The Duchess sank feebly back in her chair. She looked me all over.
"Was there ever?" she asked, "I scarcely like to ask, but was thereever any trace of insanity in your family?"
"I have never heard that there was," I replied. "It is certainly notdeveloping in me. I have always been renowned for my common sense, andit is coming well to the fore now."
"My poor child," said the Duchess tenderly. She drew me close to her."You are a very ignorant little girl, Westenra," she said, "but I havealways taken a deep interest in you. You are young, but you have agood deal in your face--you are not exactly pretty, but you have bothintelligence and, what is more important from my point of view,distinction in your bearing. Your father was my dear and personalfriend. The man he rescued, at the cost of his own life, was myrelation. I have known your mother too since we were both girls, andwhen she asked me, after your dear father's death, to stand sponsor tohis child I could not refuse. But now, what confused rigmarole are youbringing to my ears? When did the first symptoms of this extraordinarycraze begin?"
"A fortnight ago," I answered, "when the news came that our money, onwhich we had been living in great peace and comfort, had suddenlyvanished. The investments were not sound, and one of the trustees wasresponsible. You ought to blame him, and be very angry with him, butplease don't blame me. I am only doing the best I can under mostadverse circumstances. If mother and I went to the country we shouldboth die, not, perhaps, of physical starvation, but certainly of thatstarvation which contracts both the mind and soul. It would not matterat all doing without cream and meat, you know, and----"
"Oh dear," interrupted the Duchess, "I never felt more bewildered inmy life. Whatever goes wrong, Westenra, people have to live, and nowyou speak of doing without the necessaries of life."
"Meat and cream are not necessary to keep one alive," I replied; "butof course you have never known the sort of people who do without them.I should certainly be hand and glove with them if I went into thecountry, but in all probability in the boarding-house in Bloomsbury weshall be able to have good meals. Now I must really say good-bye. Tryand remember sometimes that I am your god-daughter ... and that motherloves you very much. Don't _quite_ give us both up--that is, as far asyour memory is concerned."
The Duchess bustled to her feet. "I can't make you out a bit," shesaid. "Your head has gone wrong, that is the long and short of it, butyour mother will explain things. Stay to lunch with me, Westenra, andafterwards we will go and have a talk with your mother. I can eithersend her a telegram or a note."
"Oh, I cannot possibly wait," I replied. "I drove here to-day, but wemust give up the carriage at the end of the week, and I have otherpeople to see. I must go immediately to Lady Thesiger. You know whata dear little Yankee she is, and so wise and sensible."
"She is a pretty woman," said the Duchess, frowning slightly, "but shedoes not dress well. Her clothes don't look as if they grew on her.Now you have a very lissom figure, dear; it always seems to be alive,but _have_ I heard you aright? You are going to live in apartments.No; you are going into the country to a labourer's cottage--no, no, itisn't that; you are going to let apartments to people, and they arenot to have either cream or meat. They won't stay long, that is onecomfort. My poor child, we must get you over this craze. Dr. Pagetshall see you. It is impossible that such a mad scheme should beallowed for a moment."
"One thing is certain, she does not take it in, poor darling," I saidto myself. "You are very kind, Duchess," I said aloud, "and I love youbetter than I ever loved you before," and then I kissed her hand againand ran out of the room. The last thing I saw of her round,good-humoured face, was the pallor on her cheeks and the tears in hereyes.
Lady Thesiger lived in a large flat overlooking Kensington Gardens.She was not up when I called, but I boldly sent my name in; I was toldthat her ladyship would see me in her bathroom. I found her recliningon a low sofa, while a pretty girl was massaging her face.
"Is that you, Westenra?" she said; "I am charmed to see you. Take offyour hat. That will do, Allison; you can come back in half-an-hour. Iwant to be dressed in time for lunch."
The young woman withdrew, and Lady Thesiger fixed her languid,heavily-fringed eyes on my face.
"You might shut that window, Westenra," she said, "that is, if youmean to be good-natured. Now what is it? you look quite excited."
"I am out of bondage, that is all," I said. I never treated Jasminewith respect, and she was a power in her way, but she was little olderthan I, and we had often romped together on rainy days, and hadconfided our secrets one to the other.
"Out of bondage? Does that mean that you are engaged?"
"Far from it; an engagement would probably be a state of bondage. Nowlisten, you are going to be awfully shocked, but if you are the goodsoul I think you are, you ought to help me."
"Oh, I am sure I will do anything; I admire you very much, child. Dearme, Westenra, is that a new way of doing your hair? Let me see. Showme your profile? I am not sure whether I quite like it. Yes, on thewhole, I think I do. You have pretty hair, very pretty, but now,confess the truth, you do wave it; all those little curls and tendrilsare not natural."
"As I love you, Jasmine, they are," I replied. "But oh, don't wastetime now over my personal appearance. What do you think of my physicalstrength? Am I well made?"
"So-so," answered Lady Thesiger, opening her big dark eyes and gazingat me from top to toe. "I should say you were strong. Your shouldersare just a trifle too broad, and sometimes I think you are a littletoo tall, but of course I admire you immensely. You ought to make agood marriage; you ought to be a power in society."
"From this hour, Jasmine," I said, "society and I are at daggersdrawn. I am going to do that sort of thing which society neverforgives."
"Oh, my dear, what?" Lady Thesiger quite roused herself. She forgother languid attitude, and sat up on her elbow. "Do pass me that box ofFuller's chocolates," she said. "Come near and help yourself; they aredelicious, aren't they?"
I took one of the sweetmeats.
"Now then," said her ladyship, "speak."
"It is this. I must tell you as briefly as possible--mother and I havelost our money."
"Oh, dear," said the little lady, "what a pity that so many people dolose their money--nice people, charming people who want it so much;but if that is all, it is rather fashionable to be poor. I was told sothe other day. Some one will adopt you, dear; your mother will go intoone of the refined order of almshouses. It is quite the fashion, youknow, quite."
"Don't talk nonsense," I said, and all the pride which I had inheritedfrom my father came into my voice. "You may think that mother and Iare low down, but we are not low enough to accept charity. We aregoing to put our shoulders to the wheel; we are going to solve theproblem of how the poor live. We will work, for to beg we are ashamed.In short, Jasmine, this diatribe of mine leads up to the fact that weare going to start a boarding-house. Now you have the truth, Jasmine.We expect to have charming people to live with us, and to keep a largeluxurious house, and to retrieve our lost fortune. Our quondam friendswill of course have nothing to do with us, but our real friends willrespect us. I have come here this morning to ask you a solemnquestion. Do you mean in the future to consider Westenra Wickham, theowner of a boarding-house, your friend? If not, say so at once. I wantin this case to cut the Gordian knot quickly. Every single friend Ihave shall be told of mother's and my determination before long; theDuchess knows already."
"The Duchess of Wilmot?" said Lady Thesiger with a sort of gasp. Shewas sitting up on the sofa; there was a flush on each cheek, and hereyes were very bright. "And what did the Duchess say, Westenra?"
"She thinks I am mad."
"I agree with her. My poor child. Do let me feel your forehead. Areyou feverish? Is it influenza, or a real attack o
f insanity?"
"It is an attack of downright common-sense," I replied. I rose as Ispoke. "I have told you, Jasmine," I said, "and now I will leave youto ponder over my tidings. You can be my friend in the future and helpme considerably, or you can cut me, just as you please. As to me, Ifeel intensely pleased and excited. I never felt so full of go andenergy in my life. I am going to do that which will prevent motherfeeling the pinch of poverty, and I can tell you that such a deed isworth hundreds of 'At Homes' and receptions and flirtations. Why,Jasmine, yesterday I was nobody--only a London girl trying to killtime by wasting money; but from this out I am somebody. I am abread-winner, a labourer in the market. Now, good-bye. You willrealise the truth of my words presently. But I won't kiss you, for ifyou decide to cut me you might be ashamed of it."