CHAPTER XXI
MR. PATTENS
The next day the Duchess called, and mother was looking so well forher, and so pleased to see her old friend again, that I do not thinkat first the Duchess of Wilmot half realised how ill she was. I justsaw her for a moment, and then went out. I came back again at the endof an hour. Mother's cheeks were quite bright, and her eyes shining,and her hand was in the Duchess's hand, and when she looked at me hereyes grew brighter than ever, and she said to me--
"Come here, darling," and she raised her dear lips for me to kiss her.
I did kiss those lips, and I thought them too hot, and I said to theDuchess--
"You are tiring mother, you have stayed with her long enough."
"Oh no, let her stay; I do love so much to see her," said my mother,so I could not have the heart to say any more, and I went away to adistant part of the room, and they began whispering again just likethe dearest friends which they really were, and at last the Duchesscame up to me and said--
"Come downstairs with, me, West."
I went with her, and wondered why she called me by mother's pet name,but I loved her very much.
"Tell me the truth about your mother," said the Duchess as soon as wegot into the hall. "At first I thought her fairly well, but she isfeverish, quite feverish now. Have I overtired her?"
"I cannot tell you anything except that she is not strong," I said;"that you have come so seldom to see her, that you have over-excitedher now. Oh, I cannot wait, I must go back to her."
"I will come again to-morrow or next day," said the Duchess; "I don'tlike her appearance at all."
The Duchess went away, and I returned to mother.
"It was nice to see Victoria," said my mother. "She is just the sameas ever, not the least changed. She told me about all our oldfriends."
"You are over-excited," I said, "you ought to stay quiet now."
"On the contrary, I am well and hungry; only I wonder when I shall seeher again."
"She said she would come to-morrow or next day," I answered.
In the evening mother certainly seemed by no means worse for theDuchess's visit, and the next day she said to me, "Victoria willcertainly call to-morrow." But to-morrow came and the Duchess did notarrive, nor the next day, nor the next, and mother looked ratherfagged, and rather sad and disappointed, and at the end of a week orfortnight she ceased to watch anxiously for the sound of wheels in theSquare, and said less and less about her dear friend Victoria.
But just then, the thoughts of every one in the house except mother(and the news was carefully kept from her), were full of a great andterrible catastrophe, and even I forgot all about the Duchess, for oneof our largest Orient liners had foundered on some sunken rocks notfar from Port Adelaide, off the coast of South Australia, and therehad been a terrific shipwreck, and almost every one on board wasdrowned. The vessel was called the _Star of Hope_. The papers were allfull of it, and the news was on every one's lips; but just at first Idid not realise how all important, how paralysing this same news wasfor us. I read the trouble first in Jane's face.
"You must not let your mother know about the shipwreck," she said.
"But I cannot keep the newspapers from mother, and every newspaper isfull of it," I replied; "surely, Jane, surely--oh, you cannot meanit--no person that we know was on board?"
"I have a great fear over me," she answered.
I clutched her arm, and looked into her face with wild eyes. My ownbrain seemed to reel, my heart beat almost to suffocation, then Ibecame quiet. With a mighty effort I controlled myself.
"Surely," I said, "surely."
"His name is not mentioned amongst the list of passengers, that is myone comfort; but it is quite possible, on the other hand, that he mayhave gone on board at Adelaide," she continued, "for I know he hadbusiness close to Adelaide, he told me so. If that was the case theymight not have entered his name in the ship's list of passengers,and--oh, I have a great, a terrible fear over me, his silence, and nowthis. Yes, child, it is true, he was, if all had gone well, to be onhis way home about now; but he has never written, and now thisshipwreck. I am more anxious, far more anxious than I can say."
That night I did not sleep at all. Thoughts of Jim Randolph filled mymind to the exclusion of all hope of repose. Was he really drowned?Had he left the world? Was I never to see his face again? There was acry at my heart, and an ache there which ought to have told me thetruth, and yet I would not face the truth. I said over and over tomyself, "If he dies, it is terrible; if he dies, it means ruin forus;" but nevertheless I knew well, although I would not face thetruth, that I was not thinking of the ruin to the house in GrahamSquare, nor the blow to mother, nor the loss of James Randolph simplyas a friend. There was a deeper cause for my grief. It was useless forme to say to my own heart Jim Randolph was nothing to me. I knew wellthat he was. I knew well that he was more to me than any one else inthe wide world; that I--yes, although he had never spoken of his lovefor me, I loved him, yes, I loved him with my full heart.
In the morning I made up my mind that I would go and see the Duchess.Perhaps, too, she might know something about Jim Randolph, as he was afriend of hers, a friend about whom she was always hinting, but aboutwhom she said very little.
As I was leaving the house Jane called me into her sitting-room.
"Where are you going," she said.
I told her.
"Did you ever think over that idea of mine that you might ask theDuchess to lend us that thousand pounds?" she said. "You remember Imentioned it, and you said you would not do it; but things are verygrave, very grave indeed; and if--if my fear about Mr. Randolph istrue, why things are graver than ever, in fact everything is up. But Iwould like for _her_ sake, poor dear, for her sake to ward off thecatastrophe as long as possible. She was very ill last night, and Iwas up with her for a couple of hours. I wouldn't disturb you; butdidn't you think yourself that she looked bad this morning?"
"Oh yes," I said, the tears starting to my eyes; "I thought motherlooked terribly ill, and I am going to see the Duchess. She ought tocall in order to make mother happy."
"Shut the door, Westenra," said Jane, "I have something I must say."
I shut the door, I was trembling. Jane was no longer a rock ofdefence, she made me more frightened than any one else in the house.
"Oh, what is it?" I said; "don't be mysterious, do speak out."
"Well, it is this," said Jane, "we want that thousand pounds justdreadfully. If we had it we could go on, we could go on at least tillthe end of the season, and there would be an excuse to take yourmother to the country, and she might never know, never; but it wantstwo months to the end of the season, and the house is full, and everyone is in the height of good humour, and yet they are all walking onthe brink of a precipice; the earth is eaten away beneath us, and anymoment the whole thing may topple through. Why, it was onlyyesterday----"
"What happened yesterday?" I asked.
"A man came, a Mr. Pattens."
"What has Mr. Pattens to do with us?" I said.
"You listen to me, my dear; things are so grave that I can scarcelysmile, and you are so ignorant, Westenra."
"Well," I said, "do tell me about Mr. Pattens."
"He is the butcher, dear, and we owe him over a hundred pounds, and heis positively desperate. He asked to see me, and of course I saw him,and then he said he _must_ see your mother."
"See mother? But mother never sees the tradespeople."
"I know, love; but it was with the utmost difficulty I could keep himfrom not seeing her. He said that she was responsible for his account,and that if I would not let him see her he would do the other thing."
"What?" I asked, "what?"
"Well, my dear, it is coming, and you may as well bear it. There willbe a bailiff in this house in no time. Yes, there'll be a man inpossession, and how is your mother to stand that? You think whetheryou would rather just tell your grand friend the Duchess, and saveyour mother from the depths of humiliation, or wh
ether you will letthings take their course. Pattens is desperate, and he is the sort ofman who will have no mercy. I have had to get the meat from anotherbutcher--we can't hold out much longer. I have paid away the lastshilling of the reserve fund I had in the bank. Oh dear, oh dear! whydid Mr. Randolph go away? If he has gone down in the _Star of Hope_,why truly it is black night for us."
"I will do my best, Jane, and do keep up heart; and oh, Jane, keepmother in her room, she must not know, she must not meet this terribledanger. O Jane! do your best."
"I will, love. Even at the very worst day dawns but it is black nightat present, that it is," said the faithful creature.
As I was going out who did I see standing on the threshold but Mrs.Fanning. Mrs. Fanning had been away for over a fortnight, and I mustsay we greatly enjoyed her absence, and I in particular enjoyed it;but when I saw her comely, good-humoured, beaming face now, it seemedto me that my heart went out to her. She looked at me, and then sheopened her arms wide.
"Come to me, you dear little soul," she said; "come and have a heartyhug." She clasped me tightly, and kissed me over and over again.
"I am only back an hour," she said. "And how is Albert?"
"I have not seen Mr. Fanning this morning," I answered, and I tried todisengage myself from those cheery arms.
"Dear, dear, you don't look at all the thing," she said; "there's thebrougham outside, would not you like a drive, honey? You and I mightgo out by ourselves. Come, dearie."
"No, thank you," I answered, "I am going on some special business formother."
"Then whatever it is, can't you make use of the brougham? It was allbuilt and painted to suit your style, love, and why should not youmake use of it? Albert would be that proud."
"Oh, indeed he would not, Mrs. Fanning; but please do not speak of it,I cannot, I really cannot."
"Well, if you won't, you won't," said the good woman. "I have comeback, though, and I hope to see a good deal of you; I have got lotsto tell you. I have been collecting early reminiscences."
"Of what?" I could not help asking.
"Of Albert's babyhood and childhood, they are that touching. I found alittle diary he used to keep. I declare I laughed and I cried over it.We'll read it together this evening. Now then, off you go, and do getsome colour back into your pale cheeks; you are quite the prettiest,most graceful, most h'aristocratic young lady I ever saw; but you aretoo pale now, you really are."
I did not say any more; I grasped Mrs. Fanning's hand.
"How is your dear mother?" she said.
"Mother is not at all well."
"Ah, poor dear, poor dear," said Mrs. Fanning; "then no wonder yourcheeks are pale. I said to Albert the very last night I left, 'Albert,if you win her, she's worth her weight in gold, it is a gold heart shehas; you watch her with her mother, Albert, and think what she'll beto you.'"
"Mrs. Fanning, you really must not talk in that way," I said. "Pleaselet me go."
She did let me go. My contact with her had slightly braced me. I feltangry once more with the terrible Albert; but Mrs. Fanning waskindness itself. Oh, if only Albert had been a different man, and Ihad really cared for him, and I--but why think of the impossible.
I got into an omnibus, and gave the man directions to put me down atthe nearest point to the Duchess's house. I found myself echoing JaneMullins's words, "Why had Jim Randolph gone away?"
I arrived at the Duchess's in good time. I had made up my mind to tellher all. She must lend us a thousand pounds. Mother must be saved;mother must be kept in the dark as to the utter ruin of my mad plan. Iwhispered the story as I would tell it to my old friend over and overto myself, and when I mounted the steps of the house and rang the bellI was trembling, and felt very faint and tired. The footman opened thedoor, and I inquired for her Grace.
"Can I see her?" I said. "I am Miss Wickham; I want to see her on veryspecial business."
"I will mention that you have called, madam," replied the man; "buther Grace is not visible, she is very ill. She has been in bed forseveral days, and the doctor is with her. It is influenza."
Then, indeed, I felt my last hopes tottering.
"I am sorry her Grace is ill," I said. I paused for a moment toconsider. "Can I see Miss Mitford?" I inquired then. Miss Mitford wasa lady who did some correspondence for the Duchess, and who wasgenerally to be found in the house.
Miss Mitford came downstairs immediately, and I saw her in a smallroom to the left of the great hall.
"It is the shock about Mr. Randolph," she said at once.
"Then is it really supposed that he was drowned in the _Star ofHope_?" I cried.
"He mentioned that he was coming to England by that boat," repliedMiss Mitford. "The Duchess is certain that he is amongst thepassengers, although his name has not been mentioned as yet in anylist. Her Grace is terribly upset, more particularly as Mr. Severn,Sir Henry Severn's only son, died a fortnight ago. There is greatconfusion, and Mr. Randolph ought to be back."
I did not ask any questions with regard to this latter news, nor didit interest me in the very least. Of course Mr. Randolph ought to beback, but for very very different reasons. I went sorrowfully, oh sosorrowfully, away.
When I returned home Jane was waiting for me in the hall. She washovering about, looking very untidy and very anxious.
"Well," she said; "come in here, I must speak to you."
"But it is luncheon time," I said, "and people will wonder."
"Let them wonder. Did you see her? Did she promise to lend it? Thatman has been here again. He is desperate, and says that if he is notpaid in two days he will put in the bailiff."
"And what will that mean?" I asked.
"Ruin--utter and complete. But tell me, did you see the Duchess?"
"I did not," I answered; "she is ill in bed; and oh, Jane, it is theshock about Mr. Randolph which has caused her illness. The Duchess isquite sure that he did sail in the _Star of Hope_. O Jane! what is tobe done?"
"God only knows," answered Jane Mullins; "we are up a tree, and that'sthe truth."