CHAPTER XXII
THE MAN IN POSSESSION
I cannot exactly say how the next two days went by. Even in a crisis,people get more or less accustomed to the thundercloud overhead, andthe feeling of insecurity below. I still found that I could eat, Icould walk, I could even sleep. I still found that I could be calm inmy mother's presence, and could say little funny nothings to amuseher; and I sat in such a position, that she did not see the shadowgrowing and growing on my face, and the guests did not suspectanything. Why should they? They were enjoying all the good things ofmy most miserable failure.
Jane, however, never appeared in the drawing-room now; she left theentertaining of the visitors to me. She told me boldly that I musttake it on me; that it was the least I could do, and I did take it onme, and dressed my best, and talked my best, and sang songs for ourvisitors in the evenings when my own heart was breaking.
Captain and Mrs. Furlong were very kind. They noticed how, more andmore often, mother was absent from meals, and how the colour waspaling from my cheeks with anxiety for her. It was truly anxiety forher, but they did not guess what principally caused it.
On the evening of the third day I hurried into the dining-room justbefore dinner. I quite forgot what I had gone for. It had been abrilliant May day, but in the evening a fog had come on--a heavy sortof cloud overhead, and there was a feeling of thunder in the air, andthe atmosphere was close. I remember that the windows of thedining-room were wide open, and the long table was laid in its usualdainty, and even sumptuous, manner for dinner. There were some vasesof flowers, and the plate, and china, the polished glass, the snowynapery, all looked as tasteful, as fresh, as pretty, as heart coulddesire. The guests were accustomed to this sort of table, and wouldhave been very angry if they had been asked to sit down at any other.
Emma was hurrying in and out, putting final touches to thepreparations for the great meal. I thought she looked pale, and veryanxious, and just as I was entering the room she came up to me, andsaid in a hurried whisper--
"If I were you, Miss Westenra, I wouldn't go in."
"Why not?" I asked, "why should not I go into the dining-room?"
She did not say any more; but as I insisted on going in, pushed pastme almost rudely, at least, I thought so at the moment, and went away,shutting the door after her. Then I discovered the reason why she hadwished me not to go into the room. A little short man, stout andpodgy, in a greasy coat, and a greasy waistcoat, and a dirty tie, roseas I entered.
"Beg pardon, miss," he said. He was seated in a chair not far from thewindow. He had a dirty newspaper on his lap, and by his side was aglass which must have contained beer at one time, but was now empty.
"I'm Scofield," he said, "Josiah Scofield at your service, miss. May Iask, miss, if you're Miss Wickham?"
"I am," I answered; "what are you doing here? Does Miss Mullins knowyou are here?"
"Yes, miss," answered the man in quite a humble, apologetic tone, "sheknows quite well I am here, and so do Emma, the servant; and so do theother servants, and the reason why too, miss. It's on account ofPattens, I'm here, miss; and I've come to stay, if you please."
"To stay!" I echoed feebly, "to stay, why?"
"You see, miss," continued the man; "this is how things is. You're thedaughter of the lady who owns this house, and I have heard that youown it partly yourself; and it's this paper that justifies me, miss,and I can't go out."
As he spoke, he pulled a long, ugly, foolscap envelope out of hispocket, and taking a paper from it, opened it, and showed it to me. Isaw something about _Victoria_, and _by the grace of God_, and someother words in large, staring print, and then my own name, and mymother's, and Jane Mullins'; and I thrust it back again. I could notunderstand it, and I did not care to read any further.
"I have heard of men like you," I said slowly; "but I have never seenone of them before."
The man was gazing at me with his queer, bloodshot eyes, full of thestrangest pity.
"It must be a horrid profession for you," I said suddenly. I could nothelp myself; at that moment I seemed to forget my own trouble insorrow for the man who had to do such dirty work. Was my brain going?
Scofield did not answer my last remark. He put it aside as too foolishto require a reply.
"A very pretty young lady," I heard him mutter, "and I'm that sorryfor her." He looked me all over.
"Now, miss," he said, "there are two ways of taking a man of my sort."
I nodded my head.
"There's the way of succumbing like, and going into hysterics, andmaking no end of a scene, and the man stays on all the same, and theneighbours get wind of it, and the ruin's complete in no time, so tospeak. 'Taint nothing much of a bill that's owed to Pattens, and evenif half of it was to be paid, I have not the slightest doubt thatPattens would take me out and give you a bit more time; but there'sno use in quarrelling with me, nor telling me to go, for go I won't,and can't. I had my orders, and I'm the man in possession. You havegot to face that fact, miss."
"But you spoke of two ways," I said. "What is the way which isnot--not quite so hopeless?"
"Ah!" said the man, rubbing his hands, "now, we are coming to oursenses, we are. Now I can manage matters fine."
I glanced at the clock. It was already seven o'clock, and we dined athalf-past. The air outside seemed to grow heavier and heavier, and thesky to grow darker, and I expected the thunder to roll, and thelightning to flash at any moment: but what did external things matter.There was a storm in my heart which kept out the sound, and themeaning of external storms.
"Mother! mother!" I kept murmuring under my breath, "this will killyou, mother. O Mother! and it has been my fault. My wild, wild schemehas come to this!"
I felt so ill, that I could scarcely keep upright, and yet I could notsit in the presence of that man. The next moment everything in theroom seemed to go round, and I was obliged to totter towards a chair.I think I lost consciousness, for when I came to myself, I found thelittle dirty greasy man had brought me a glass of water, and wasstanding near.
"You pluck up heart, child," he said, "there now, you're better. Thisis not the first nor the second time I have been in a house as big asthis, and just as grand and full of visitors, and everything seeminglyas right as possible, and the house undermined. I've seen scores oftimes like this, and pretty misses, like you, cut to the heart. It's anasty trade is mine, but we all must live, my dear, and I'm trulysorry for you, and now, if you'll just let me advise you?"
"What?" I asked, "what?"
"You don't want the guests to know as I'm here?"
"Of course not."
"I must stay, and the servants had better know as little about me aspossible. Of course, they have seen me already, but anyhow it is asort of disguise that is commonly managed, and I had better do it."
"What do you mean?" I cried.
"My son, Robert, will be round directly. He often comes to me when Iam in possession; I expect by the same token that's his ring I hearnow. If you'll give me five shillings, miss, I'll do just what youwant, and nobody need guess."
"But what? what?" I asked.
"Bob is bringing me my servant's livery, miss, and I'll attend attable to-night as your new man-servant. I look extremely well inlivery, and I have often attended in the houses of gentry just asgrand as yourself. Have you got five shillings in your pocket, miss?I have to earn my bread, and I can't do it for less. Nobody will guesswho I am, and why I am here, if you'll give me that five shillings."
"Take it, take it," I cried. I thrust two half-crowns into his palm,and fled from the room. In the hall I found that I had run almost intothe arms of Mr. Fanning.
"Why, Miss Wickham," he cried. He caught my hand to keep me fromfalling; "why, my dear, what is the matter?" he said then; there was aworld of affection and sympathy in his voice, but I hated him forspeaking to me thus.
"I have been feeling ill," I said, "I cannot go down to dinner."
"But what is wrong?" he said. He backed towards the dining-ro
om door,and I did not want him to go in. He was so sharp; he would know atonce what that little greasy man meant. I knew by his manner, and byhints that his mother had dropped, that they were both of them by nomeans in the dark with regard to our affairs. He must not go into thedining-room.
"Don't go in; come upstairs with me," I said.
"Oh, that I will, with pleasure," he answered, delighted at my tone,"and if you are really ill we must get the doctor. We cannot allow youto be really ill, you know, that would never do. I am very fond ofnice girls like you; but they must keep their health, oh yes, theymust. Now you are better, that is right. It's this horrid air, andthe storm coming on. You want the country. It's wonderfully fresh atHighgate; splendid air; so bracing. I have been out at my place thisafternoon, and I cannot tell you what a difference there is. It islike another climate."
"Then why don't you stay in your place?" I could not help answering."What is it for, if you do not live there?"
"I won't live in it, Miss Wickham, until I bring my wife there to bearme company. But now if you are ill, do go to your room and rest; onlycome down to dinner, pray. I never could do with hysterical girls; butrun upstairs and rest, there's a good child."
I left him, went to my attic, shut and locked the door, and threwmyself on the ground. O God! the misery of that hour, the bitterblackness of it. But I must not give way; I must appear at dinner.Whatever happened I must not give way.
I got up, arranged my hair, washed my face and hands, dressed myselfin the first evening dress I came across, and went downstairs. Thebeautiful little silver gong sounded, and we all trooped down to thedining-room. There were pleased smiles among the guests. The room wascrowded. Every seat at the long table had its occupant. Several freshpaying guests had arrived, and there was the little man in liveryhelping Emma to wait. How pleased the old paying guests were to seehim. The new paying guests took him as a matter of course. Mrs.Armstrong, in particular, nodded to Miss Armstrong, and bent across toMr. Fanning and said--
"I am so pleased to see that poor Emma is getting a little help atlast." And Mr. Fanning looked at me and gave me a broad, perceptiblewink. I almost felt as if I must go under the table, but I kept up mycourage as people do sometimes when they are at the stake, for trulyit was like that to me. But mother was there, looking so sweet andfragile, and a little puzzled by the new waiter's appearance.
"What is your name?" I heard her say to him as he brought her somevegetables, and he replied in a smug, comfortable voice, "Robert,ma'am." And then she asked him to do one or two things, just as shewould have asked our dear little page in the old days which hadreceded, oh! so far, into the background of my life.
That evening, in the drawing-room, Mrs. Fanning came up to me.
"They are all talking about Robert," she said.
She sat down, shading me by her own portly figure from the gaze of anymore curious people.
"You shan't sing to-night," she said; "you're not fit for it, and Ifor one won't allow it. I told Albert I'd look after you. We'll haveto make excuses to-morrow when _he's_ not here."
"When who is not here?" I asked.
"The man they call Robert, who waited at dinner to-night."
"But he'll be here to-morrow," I said; "you know he will; you know it,don't you?"
She bent a little closer, and took my hand.
"Ah, dearie, my dearie," she said. "I have been low down once. It wasbefore Albert the first made his fortune. I have been through tighttimes, and I know all about it. There, my dearie, take heart, don'tyou be fretting; but he won't be here to-morrow, my love."
"But he will," I said.
"He won't, darling. I know what I'm talking about. We must makeexcuses when he goes. We must say that he wasn't _exactly_ the sort ofservant Jane Mullins wanted, and that she is looking out for a smartersort of man. Don't you fret yourself over it, my darling."
"Oh! I feel very sick and very tired," I cried. "Mrs. Fanning, willyou make some excuse for me to mother? I must go upstairs and liedown."
"I'll have a talk with your mother, and I'll not let out a thing toher," said Mrs. Fanning, "and I'll take you up and put you right intobed myself. I declare you do want a little bit of mothering from awoman who has got abundant strength. Your own poor, dear mother woulddo it if she could, but she hasn't got the strength of a fly. I amvery strong, dear, owing to Dr. Williams' Pink Pills, bless the man!"
Just at that moment Mr. Fanning came up.
He bent his tall, awkward figure towards his mother, and I distinctlyheard the odious word "Robert," and then Mrs. Fanning took my hand andled me out of the drawing-room. She was very kind, and she helped meto get into bed, and when I was in bed she took my hand and said shewas not going to stir until I fell asleep.
"For I have been through these times, my dear, but the first time isthe worst of all," said the good woman, and she held my hand tightly,and in spite of myself her presence comforted me and I did dropasleep.
The next morning when I went down to breakfast I could not see anysign of Robert. Immediately afterwards I went into Jane's room.
"Where is the man in possession?" I said bitterly.
Jane's face looked a little relieved.
"Haven't you heard?" she said; "he has gone. It was Mr. Fanning whodid it. He paid the bill in full, and the man has gone. He went lastnight. Mr. Fanning is arranging the whole thing, and the man inpossession won't come back, that is, for the present. I begin to seedaylight. I am glad you have made up your mind to be sensible,Westenra."