CHAPTER XIV.

KLEINWORT IS SYMPATHETIC.

Some eighteen months before that especial September of which I am now writing, Mrs. Mortomley's then maid announced her intention of marrying. She did not, however, wish to inconvenience her mistress, and would stay with her till suited.

"By no means," said Mrs. Mortomley, who, being taken by surprise, was disgusted at the announcement. "You have been very secret about your love affairs, Jones; but of course I cannot complain. Tell me when you wish to leave, and leave. I can suit myself at once."

Whereat Miss Jones smiled. After all, lady's maids who understand their work are as scarce as good and economical cooks.

Nevertheless, Dolly stood her ground; Jones had not treated her with the confidence she thought she deserved, and she should go; and she did go, and the marriage never took place.

Her _fiancé_ had not proposed to remove his beloved immediately from Homewood, and when he found Mrs. Mortomley quite decided in the matter, he repented him of his offer.

So Miss Jones procured another situation, and Mrs. Mortomley had no maid.

Now to Dolly--the most untidy of created beings--this was a discomfort.

She did not possess--she had never possessed--that admirable gift of orderliness which adds so much to the comfort and prosperity of middle-class life. She was like a hurricane blowing about a room. In five minutes after she began to dress, everything was in confusion, not an article remained in its proper place, and when at last she sailed through the doorway, arrayed in whatever might chance to be the extreme of the then fashion, she left a chaos behind, suggestive of nothing but a ship-wreck of millinery, jewellery, laces, silks, and all the other accessories of a lady's toilette.

How Mrs. Mortomley ever managed to evolve a presentable appearance out of such a whirlwind of confusion, might well have puzzled those who believe that out of disorder nothing can be produced excepting disorder; but not even Mrs. Werner could have been considered a better-dressed woman than Dolly, whose greatest error in taste was a tendency to exaggerate whatever style might be the fashion of the day.

When large crinolines were in fashion, there was not a doorway in Homewood sufficiently wide to permit her to pass through it comfortably; when long dresses prevailed, Dolly's trailed yards behind her over the grass; when short skirts first came in, Dolly made a display of high heels and ankles, which Rupert caricatured effectively.

It was the same with her hair. When chignons first appeared, Mrs. Mortomley astonished the members of her household by coming down one morning to breakfast with a second and larger head than her own; and in this style she persisted till the short reign of tight plaits succeeded, during which she wore her hair flat as if gummed. But for her husband's interference, she would at one time have presented society with a sight of her perfectly straight tresses streaming down her back, and it was with difficulty Rupert persuaded her to refrain from cutting her front locks and setting up an opposition to her child's Gainsborough fringe.

Dolly's happiness, however, reached its crowning point when costume dresses came into favour. The flouncings, the puffings, the bows, the ends, the frillings, and the trimmings delighted her soul; whilst to have her hair turned right back off her face, and rolled round and round immense pads at the back, compassed a state of earthly felicity Mrs. Mortomley declared candidly she had never hoped to experience.

But all these great results she was unable to achieve for herself. She could not dress her hair in any of those elaborate styles she admired so enthusiastically. It was to her maid she owed having her wardrobe in order, her dresses hung in place, her gloves ready to put on, her ornaments available, her bonnets and hats in their appointed boxes; and, accordingly, to Mrs. Mortomley, being without a maid proved a serious discomfort.

She was quite frank concerning her own shortcomings.

"I would give anything," she said to Mrs. Werner, "to be neat as you are; but, alas! a left-handed man might as well wish to be right-handed."

"But surely, dear, you might be a little orderly, if you chose to try," suggested her friend.

"Yes; just as any-body might sing like Patti, if she chose; or play like Arabella Goddard. Tidiness is as much a special talent as music, or painting, or writing, or anything else of that sort. Look at little Lenore, for instance. She never leaves even a scrap of silk lying about. No great-granddame could more scrupulously keep her possessions in order than that child does; and yet I am her mother! Don't you remember how aunt used to be always scolding me for my untidiness, and you know how hard I used to try to be neat, and how many vows I made on the subject till I ceased vowing altogether, because I could not keep the promises made so solemnly to myself? Well, if it was hard to keep my worldly goods in order then, when I had so few, what do you suppose it must be now? It is no laughing matter. Remembering how I was brought up, you may think it ridiculous affectation for me to declare I am miserable now Jones is gone. If it were not that she never would feel the slightest respect for me in the future, I would have her back again; I would indeed."

"I know a person who would suit you," was the reply.

For a minute Dolly remained silent. She had a vision of the kind of paragon Mrs. Werner affected in her own household.

Lean, middle-aged, cold, prudish, particular, respectful, and respectable, who would secretly be shocked at poor Dolly's ideas, manners, habits; who would not like being put out of her way, and who would remark to the other servants she had never lived with so flighty a lady as Mrs. Mortomley before, and had expected from Mrs. Werner's recommendation to find Homewood a quiet place, instead of being always full of company, as was the case.

All this passed through Mrs. Mortomley's mind, and she hesitated; then she remembered the spectacle her drawers and wardrobes and boxes presented at that moment, and asked:

"Who is she?"

"She is a very superior young woman, as far as I can judge," was the answer.

"I hate superior young women," commented Dolly.

"She has been living with Mrs. Seymour," continued Mrs. Werner, as calmly as if Mrs. Mortomley had not spoken; "but she was not strong enough for the place."

"I should think not," remarked Dolly. "Mrs. Seymour forgets servants are but flesh and blood after all."

"So she left a few days since, and is now at home. I promised to send to her if I heard of any situation likely to suit. I do not fancy she is very clever, but she gives me the idea of being faithful and willing. I think you might give her a trial."

"If she found the work too much at Mrs. Seymour's, she would find it too much with me. There is a great deal to do at Homewood, Nora."

Mrs. Werner laughed.

"I have no doubt of that, Dolly. Wherever there is bad management there must be work. But the work under you would not be the same as work under a mistress with a bad temper."

"Well, there is something in that," agreed Dolly thoughtfully. "I do not think I have a bad temper except just now and then."

She was sitting in Mrs. Werner's gorgeous drawing-room as she said this, and her eyes rested as she spoke on a great vase of flowers which somehow brought back the gardens of Lord Darsham's place to memory.

Those gardens had once belonged to the Mortomleys. Was it owing to having married such women as herself the Mortomleys were sunk so low? Dolly asked herself this question solemnly, while Mrs. Werner remained silent; then Mrs. Werner's hand rested on hers caressingly.

"Dolly," she said, "I only wish I had such a temper as you possess. My dear, you win love where I cannot."

"Ay, Leonora," was the reply, "but what is love without respect? You love, but you never respected me. I love and respect you too."

"Dolly, darling"--thus Mrs. Werner,--"I have an uneasy feeling that some day it may be necessary for me to remark I have misjudged you all through our acquaintanceship. But how we are drifting! What about the maid?"

"I will take her."

"Without an interview?"

"Certainly. Mrs. Seymour was satisfied; you are satisfied. Who am I that I should not be satisfied also? Send the girl to me. I will do the best I can with her."

"Faults and all, Dolly?"

"Leonora, I love people who are faultless; but it is in my nature to adore those who are full of faults."

"Meaning--" suggested Mrs. Werner.

"We need not particularise," was the reply; "but if we need, I may just say, much as I like you, I should like you better if I could discover one human failing. Now, you have no human failing except your friendship for me."

"Do you really mean, Dolly, you will accept this young woman, without seeing her, on my recommendation?" said Mrs. Werner ignoring Dolly's personal remark.

"Of course. All I am afraid of is that her pitch will be a few tones above mine."

Mrs. Werner smiled.

"The girl would not suit me, Dolly; but she will suit you. Spoil her to your heart's content, and you will not spoil her so far as to prevent her becoming afterwards a good wife and mother."

"Then, you had better write to her," said Mrs. Mortomley.

"No; you had better write," suggested Mrs. Werner.

Whereupon Mrs. Mortomley wrote:--

"Mrs. Werner having recommended (what is the girl's name, Nora?) Esther Hummerson to Mrs. Mortomley in the capacity (what a fine word that is for me to use) of lady's maid, Mrs. Mortomley will be glad if Esther Hummerson can enter upon her duties at once."

To which letter Mrs. Mortomley received the following reply:--

"Esther Hummerson presents her duty to Mrs. Mortomley, and I will enter upon your service next Tuesday evening, the 17th.

"With much respect, "Your humble servant, "E. HUMMERSON."

It was quite natural for Dolly to forget all about the advent of the new maid; to be taken entirely by surprise when it was announced that a young woman (Hummerson by name) was in the hall and wanted to speak to her.

But, in a moment, Dolly remembered. Mrs. Mortomley was in _demi-toilette_ at that moment. A brown silk dress cut square in the front, skirt trailing behind her over the oilcloth in the hall, plain gold bracelets, plain gold necklet with cross set in turquoise depending.

To Esther Hummerson she fluttered. "I do hope you will be comfortable with me," she said. "And this is your Aunt who has come with you? Jane" (this to the parlour-maid), "see that Esther's aunt has something to eat; and--what is the name of your aunt? oh! Mrs. Bush; if you would like to stay here for the night, we will try to make you comfortable. No. Well, then, good evening; and to-morrow, Esther, I can talk to you."

Thus Mrs. Mortomley. But the soul of the girl had in that sentence gone out, and was knit unto that of Mrs. Mortomley as the soul of Jonathan to that of David.

What was it? Dress, manner, ornament, tone of voice, expression of face? They all mixed together, and produced the effect of first love in the heart of the maid for the mistress.

Never had Mrs. Mortomley chanced to have so little to say to a servant as to this Esther Hummerson, who for nearly a year pursued the even tenour of her way, finding the place comfortable, the work light, Dolly unexacting, and Miss Halling sometimes a little hard to please.

The gala days at Homewood were over. The cake and ale of life had lost their flavour for more than one inmate of the house. Anxiety, illness, pecuniary difficulties, trade annoyances, made Mortomley anything rather than the host of old; whilst Dolly, even if the shadow lying over her husband had not oppressed her also, must have grown changed and dull by reason of the constant presence of Miss Halling's friends.

Mr. Deane was becoming impatient to take home his bride. The alterations considered necessary on such an occasion were finished; the workmen had put the last touches necessary to make his mansion perfect. The new dining-room was papered with the darkest flock paper ever manufactured by man. Miss Deane had found a house to suit her at Brighton, and everything at last was ready for Miss Halling's reception. Miss Halling, however, did not desire to leave Homewood till she could leave with a flourish of trumpets announcing the fact, and the marriage had consequently been deferred, which is almost as bad plan to adopt with marriages as with auctions.

All at once, so it appeared to Dolly, a gloom had settled over Homewood; through all the months November weather seemed to prevail in the once sun-shiny rooms.

Things had arrived at a pass when dress was a vanity and jewellery a snare. Jones, who had a high idea of the importance attached to her office, would have worried her mistress to death at this juncture, but Esther, who had never yet been in any situation where she was permitted to take much upon herself, simply performed what work came to her hand, and did as she was told.

Evening after evening she spread out the brightest and prettiest dresses, hoping to see Mrs. Mortomley array herself like a second Queen of Sheba; and if she sighed when directed to put them away again, Dolly never heard her; if she lamented over the non-exhibition of ornaments which were never worn, she took care to give no audible expression to her feelings.

Love makes the foolish wise. Eventually affection for Mrs. Mortomley opened her eyes to the real state of affairs.

Her mistress was miserable. In that burst of tears Dolly understood the girl knew this.

"I will tell her all," said Mrs. Mortomley mentally; and ere she slept she did.

Under the circumstances, perhaps, a bold experiment, but successful.

"And now, Esther," finished Mrs. Mortomley, "you know precisely how we are situated at present. How we shall be situated in the future I have not any idea. Cook and Jane, as you are aware, have given me notice, and I think it might be well for you to look out too."

"Never, ma'am," was the answer. "I would rather have a crust with you than joints every day with another mistress. And it don't matter about wages, ma'am," she went on; "I don't want no wages till you can afford to give them."

For once Mrs. Mortomley rose to the occasion, and held her impulses well in hand, while she answered,

"You had better go to bed Esther, and we will talk all this over again in a day or two. Twelve o'clock at night is not the time for you to make or for me to accept such an offer; because it may mar a good part of your future, my dear," she added softly.

Already Dolly was beginning to understand the most beautiful part of life is that which returns a second time no more.

Till the green leaves of her youth were lying brown and withered under her feet, she never realised that she had left behind for ever the flowery dells bright with primroses and sweet with violets; that spring for her was over--and not spring merely, but summer also. Summer roses would greet new-comers along time's highway, but charm her with perfume and colour, with the seductive and subtle charm of old, never again--ah! never.

And she had loved the world and its pleasures with a love which seemed to duller natures almost wicked in its intensity; and the world was now turning its dark side to her, and its pleasures were for others, not for her.

Well, should she grumble? Those who imagined Mrs. Mortomley would bemoan herself when the cake was eaten were wrong. All she asked now was, that the figurative, dry morsel, which promised to furnish their future wants, should be swallowed in peace.

"Without those dreadful men, and the fear of them," she whispered in her prayers. What had she not gone through at Homewood by reason of persons left in possession?

But the end was drawing nigh. It was so near that when Rupert told her a "man" had been sent in at the instance of one creditor, and a couple of hours after Esther came with a frightened face to say there was "another of those people," she only said, "Very well."

She said the same, only more wearily, in answer to the two servants who, having given notice previously, now wished to leave at once, having heard of situations likely to suit.

"Supposing we had arranged to give a dinner party to-day, Rupert!" she remarked, with an attempt at cheerfulness.

Rupert did not answer. He was white almost to his lips. He had begun to realise their position, to understand fully what Mortomley's too tardy liquidation might mean to Mortomley's relatives.

Miss Halling also was in anything rather than high spirits, and wished with all her heart she had consented to a quiet wedding months previously. Altogether the domestic atmosphere at Homewood was oppressive, when towards afternoon a telegram arrived from Mr. Deane.

"Have not yet been to solicitors. Forde wishes no steps taken till he has seen you."

Mrs. Mortomley read the message through and then went in search of Rupert.

"What is the meaning of that?" she asked.

"It means that he intends to try to cajole or threaten you to keep affairs moving a little longer. Now, Dolly, will you be firm? Promise me you will be firm."

She turned and looked at him.

"Do you mean that you think I shall lack firmness to end this life? Do you think I shall be influenced by any one when Archie is lying ill upstairs and two men are in possession downstairs? You do not quite know me yet, Rupert. The person is not in existence who shall threaten or cajole _me_ into letting my husband be killed before my eyes, if I can save him."

"You had better not see Forde, however, if it be possible to avoid doing so."

"I do not want to see him," she replied; "but if I must, you need not fear that I shall give way now."

Though it is easy enough to be brave in presence of an enemy, it is not always so easy to maintain a courageous heart while expecting his coming; and, to state the truth, both Mrs. Mortomley and Rupert found the time which intervened between the receipt of the telegram and the arrival of Mr. Forde, take a considerable amount of courage out of them.

There was the waiting; there was the wondering; there was the doubt; there was the desire to conciliate a creditor, and the knowledge it would be simple insanity to allow that creditor to compromise their future further.

The beauty of the afternoon was over. A century as it seemed stretched between yesterday and to-day, when at last a carriage drove up to the door, and two visitors alighted. One was Mr. Forde, the other, Esther described as a short fat gentleman with a large head.

They were shown into the drawing-room, where Rupert received them.

Presently he rang the bell, and desired Esther to inform Mrs. Mortomley Mr. Forde wished to see her.

Straight downstairs went Mrs. Mortomley. In vain Esther tried to pull out her mistress's bows and ribbons; Dolly swept along the passage too swiftly for such details to be attended to.

With the summons Dolly's courage flowed, and she feared that a second's delay might find it ebb. Downstairs as rapidly as her feet could carry her, went Mrs. Mortomley. Across the large old-fashioned hall, into the drawing-room, once a bower of flowers, now bare of bud and blossom by reason of the frosts which even in that golden September time had nipped the hope and the purpose of those who formerly loved to be surrounded by all things sweet, by all things bright and graceful.

As she entered, Mr. Kleinwort, who would have tried to be civil to a woman had the task of conducting her to the scaffold been confided to him, rose and greeted Madam, whom he had never previously beheld, with a low bow and sweeping wave of his hat. Mr. Forde having, however, arrived at a state of mind in which the ordinary courtesies of life seemed worse than mockeries, remained seated, and only acknowledged her presence with a nod.

Dolly looked at him in mute astonishment. No circumstance in the whole of their experience, not even the appearance of the sheriff's officers, had so amazed her as the sight of Mr. Forde, leaning back in a chair, his hands buried in his pockets, his hat tilted a little over his eyes.

She could scarcely believe the evidence of her senses, and stood for an instant confused, surprised out of her customary self-possession. Next moment, however, happening to glance towards Rupert, she saw an expression on his face which meant--Danger--Caution.

Mrs. Mortomley closed the door, and walking to the further side of the centre table, took up her position beside Rupert, declining Mr. Kleinwort's effusive proffer of a chair.

"You wished to see me," she said calmly enough, though there was a choking sensation in her throat, and her lips and mouth were parched as if she were in a fever.

"Ah! madame, yes," exclaimed Kleinwort, hurriedly preventing his friend's reply. "We have come to see what can be done. It is so unfortunate--it seems so great pity--we feel--"

"I feel we have been swindled," interrupted Mr. Forde. "Be silent, Kleinwort, I will speak. Between your husband and your precious nephew, we have been let into a nice hole. First this clever young man takes the management of affairs, and when he has got as deep into our books as he can, his uncle threatens to stop. We give him time, assistance, everything he asks, and then he says he is ill, and _you_, knowing your husband has made himself right, send us up a cool message, saying affairs have come to such a pass you must go into liquidation. By----, you ought all to be prosecuted for conspiracy, and I am not certain I shall not apply to the Lord Mayor for a warrant to-morrow."

In his righteous indignation Mr. Forde rose from his seat and walked to the window, Mr. Kleinwort following, and laying his hand on his arm.

"Keep your temper, for Heaven's sake," whispered Rupert to his companion.

"Is he mad?" she asked in the same tone, but low as she spoke Mr. Forde caught her words, and faced round while he answered.

"No, madame, I am not mad, though it is not your husband's fault that I have kept my senses. I trusted to his representations. I believed he was solvent as the Bank of England. I told my directors he was as safe as Rothschild, but I will find out what he has done with his money, and if there has been, as I believe, misappropriation, I will send him to gaol, if there is justice to be had in the land."

Dolly looked at Rupert. She saw his lip curl, and an expression of unutterable contempt pass across his face. Then he stood indifferent as ever.

This gave her courage. Without her later experiences, Mr. Forde's utterances might have been almost unintelligible, but she grasped his meaning quick enough, and addressing Mr. Kleinwort, asked--

"Do you think my husband has done anything with his money but what is right--that he has put any away?"

"I do not think, I know!" shouted Mr. Forde in reply.

"Should you object to telling us where it is?" inquired Rupert.

"I can't tell you, because I do not yet know myself; but I mean to find out, you may be quite certain of that, Mr. Rupert Halling."

"All right," said Rupert cheerfully.

"And I mean to know what you have done with your money," continued Mr. Forde. "He had twenty pounds no later than last Friday," continued the irate manager, addressing Mr. Kleinwort, "for a picture which I am credibly informed he could have painted in a day. Why if I had lived as he and his father and sister have done on Mr. Mortomley, I should be ashamed to stand there and talk about difficulty. You may sneer, sir, but I beg to tell you that it may prove you have sneered once too often. I call your conduct disgraceful. Why, twenty pounds a day, supposing you only worked three hundred days in the year, is six thousand pounds, more than enough to pay the whole of your debt to us. What have you to say to that, sir?"

"Nothing," answered Rupert. "Your knowledge of Art and your Arithmetic appear to be so accurate that I would not presume to criticise either."

"It seems to me," suggested Mr. Kleinwort at this juncture, "that we travel like the horse in the mill, round and about. Unlike that useful quadruped we produce no good. Dear madame, cannot this evil so great be averted? Cannot we by talking all over friendly, imagine some means to cure your dear husband, and avoid so great disgrace as bankruptcy?"

"My husband does not wish to be bankrupt," said Dolly.

"Alas! my dear--pardon, madame, I mean all in sympathy, all in respect--it is the same, bankruptcy and being liquidate are one."

"What is the use of talking all this nonsense, Kleinwort?" interrupted Mr. Forde. "Let us get to business. What things are pressing?"

"There are two men in possession here," answered Mrs. Mortomley timidly, seeing the speaker looked at her.

"You hear that, Kleinwort," said Mr. Forde; "and this is being treated with confidence."

"Yes, yes, I hear," agreed Kleinwort.

"Perhaps it may save trouble to us all if I fetch a list of the pressing liabilities," suggested Rupert, and without waiting for an answer he walked out of the room, as he did so, Mrs. Mortomley rang the bell.

"What do you want ma'am?" asked Mr. Forde, turning towards her.

"I want a glass of water," she answered in astonishment.

"Pah!" exclaimed Mr. Forde. Perhaps he thought she had rung for ten thousand pounds to be brought immediately.

"_Your_ friends would not like Mr. Mortomley to stop," said Mr. Forde after a pause, facing round on Dolly.

"I don't think, really, they would mind in the least," she replied, meaning to imply they would not understand what stopping meant.

"And that is friendship!" exclaimed Mr. Forde, apostrophising in vacancy.

At that precise moment Mrs. Mortomley could only have defined friendship as meaning some person or thing who should rid her for ever of the presence of Messrs. Forde and Kleinwort, and she deemed it prudent to refrain from doing so.

Mr. Forde's exclamation, therefore, elicited no comment.

When Rupert reappeared, he came tray in one hand, accounts in the other. After pouring out a glass of water for Dolly, who drank it like one who was passing through a desert, he handed a strip of paper to Mr. Kleinwort.

"If those were satisfied," he said calmly, "we should have a similar list within a fortnight. The fact that Mr. Mortomley is in difficulties has got wind, and every one to whom he owes money is pressing or will press."

"You hear that Kleinwort?" remarked Mr. Forde.

"Yes, yes, I hear well enough," was the answer, uttered somewhat irritably. "I am not yet so old greybeard my ears are no longer of no use."

"May I ask if Mr. Kleinwort is here as a witness?" inquired Rupert. "Because if he is I should like to make a statement."

"We don't want any more of your statements, my fine fellow," retorted Mr. Forde; "we have already had too many of them."

"But _I_ wish to say something, and I will say it," here interposed Mrs. Mortomley. "Any person who could possibly imagine we should have endured what we have endured had we been possessed of the means of ridding ourselves of the creatures who have made this house worse than any prison, must be crazy."

"Dear, dear lady, now be not hasty," entreated Mr. Kleinwort, whilst Mr. Forde thundered out, "I suppose you will try next to make me believe _you_ have no money."

"I shall try to do nothing of the kind," she replied; "but it is useless to us in our extremity. My trustee is now in Italy, but before he went he said he would not allow another shilling to be advanced into the business, and that if he had known my husband's affairs were in so desperate a state, he would never have given his sanction to any of the principal being used."

"He said that, did he?" commented Mr. Forde gloomily.

"Yes; and I wish to say _you_ had a couple of thousand of Mrs. Mortomley's money," supplemented Rupert. "Mr. Kleinwort, do you hear that?"

Before any one could reply the door flew open, and Lenore came headlong into the room exclaiming, "Mamma! my mamma!"

At the sight of visitors she paused for a moment, then went straight up to Mr. Forde, whom she knew, and held out her hand as she had been taught to do.

He took it as he might the fang of a serpent, and gave it back to her at once.

"What a child! oh, what an angel child!" cried Kleinwort in an ecstasy. "Come, my love, and kiss this ugly old German, whose heart grows young and green at sight of the sweet May-buds."

"Lenore, I want you," said Mrs. Mortomley decisively. And when the child, half frightened at her tone, sprang to her side, Mrs. Mortomley caught her hand tight in hers and looked defiantly at Mr. Kleinwort.

"Ah! dear madam, you make great mistake," he observed; "you imagine me your enemy, though your interests are mine and mine yours, and you possess all the sympathy my nature has to hold!"

END OF VOL. I.

PRINTED BY TAYLOR AND CO., LITTLE QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS.

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Transcriber's note:

A number of printing errors have been corrected. For example, "presssng" is now "pressing," "ourelves" is now "ourselves," "philanthrophy" is now "philanthropy," and "prococious" is now "precocious."