RUINED
It was on the afternoon of that same day that Jane Mullins sent for me
to go into her private sitting-room.
"Shut the door," she said, "I must talk to you."
Really Jane looked most queer. During the last month or two, ever
since Mr. Randolph went away, she had been taking less and less pains
with her dress; her hair was rough and thinner than ever; her little
round figure had fallen away; she seemed to have aged by many years.
She was never a pretty woman, never in any sense of the word, but now
there was something grotesque about her, grotesque and at the same
time intensely pathetic.
"I have done all I could," she said. "Lock the door, please,
Westenra."
I locked the door.
"Now come and sit here, or stand by the window, or do anything you
like; but listen with all your might, keep your attention alert."
"Yes," I said, "yes."
"We are ruined, Westenra," said Jane Mullins, "we are ruined."
"What!" I cried.
Jane said the words almost ponderously, and then she threw her hands
to her sides and gazed at me with an expression which I cannot by any
possibility describe.
"We are ruined," she repeated, "and it is time you should know it."
"But how?" I asked.
"How?" she cried with passion, "because we have debts which we cannot
meet--we have debts, debts, debts on every side; debts as high as the
house itself. Because we deceived our landlord, unintentionally it is
true, but nevertheless we deceived him, with promises which we cannot
fulfil, he can take back the lease of this house if he pleases, and
take it back he will, because our paying guests don't pay, because the
whole thing from first to last is a miserable failure. There,
Westenra, that's about the truth. It was your thought in the first
instance, child, and though I don't want to blame you, for you did it
with good meaning, and in utter ignorance, yet nevertheless you must
take some of the brunt of this terrible time. I cannot bear the whole
weight any longer. I have kept it to myself, and it has driven me
nearly mad. Yes, we are ruined."
"You must explain more fully," was my answer.
Her agitation was so great that by its very force it kept me quiet. I
had never seen her absolutely without composure before; her usually
brisk, confident manner had deserted her.
"You have kept me in the dark," I continued, "and you have done wrong,
very wrong. Now please explain how and why we are ruined."
"Here are some of the accounts; understand them if you can," she said.
She opened a drawer and pulled out a great account book. "Now look
here," she said, "the house is absolutely full, there is not a single
room to be let; I declined four fresh parties only this morning; Emma
is perfectly tired opening the door to people who want to come here to
board, the house has got a name and a good one. It is said of it that
it is in Bloomsbury and yet smacks of the West End. You and your
mother and Jim Randolph, bless him! have to answer for that. It's all
your doing, and the people have talked. Everything has been done that
could be done to make the place popular, and the place is popular, but
now, you look here. Here are the takings"--she pointed to one side of
the ledger--"here are the expenses"--she pointed to the
other--"expenses so much, takings so much, look at the balance,
Westenra. Of course you don't know much about accounts, but you can
see for yourself."
I did look, and I did see, and my heart seemed to stand still, for the
balance on the wrong side of the ledger represented many pounds a
week.
"Then this means," I said, for I was sharp enough in my way, "that the
longer we go on the heavier we get into debt. Every week we lose so
much."
"We do, dear, that's just it."
"But cannot we retrench?"
"Retrench! how? Do you suppose the boarders will do without their
comfortable hot coffee, and the other luxuries on the board at
breakfast? Do you suppose they will do without their lunch, their
afternoon tea with plenty of cakes and plenty of cream, their late
dinner, at which appears all the luxuries of the season?--why, the
house would be empty in a week. And we cannot have fewer servants, we
have only four, very much less than most people would have for an
establishment of this kind, and Emma already complains of pains in her
legs, and says she is worn out going up and down stairs."
"But the place looks so thriving," I said.
"Looks! what have looks to do with it?" said Jane. "I feel nearly mad,
for I always thought I could pull the thing through; but it's going on
at a loss, and nothing can go on at a loss; and then, dear, there are
bad debts--one or two people have shuffled off without paying, and
there are the furniture bills, they are not all met yet."
"But I thought," I said, "that the seven thousand pounds----"
"Ay," cried Jane, "and that is where the bitterness comes in. That
money was supposed to be all right, to be as sure and safe as the Bank
of England, and it is not all right, it is all wrong. But that is
James Randolph's story. When he comes back he will explain the rights
of it to you, my dear. If I could only hear from him that the money
was safe, we could wind up honourably in the autumn and stop the
concern; but I have not heard, I have not heard; there has been
nothing but silence, and the silence drives me mad. Westenra, what is
to be done?"
"Give the whole thing up now," I said, "there is nothing else to be
done. We must stop."
"Stop!" answered Jane. "You talk with the ignorance of a young girl.
If we stop now we will have the whole house of cards about our ears;
the tradespeople will sue for their money, the bailiffs will be in and
will take possession of the furniture, even the very bed your mother
sleeps on will be taken from under her. The awful, terrible position
is, that we can neither stop nor go on. It is fearful, fearful. Oh, if
I could only borrow a thousand pounds within a week, I would not care
a farthing. I would not even care if your mother was strong, but to
have this crash come about her in her present state of health, why, it
would kill her. Westenra, poor child, you are young and unaccustomed
to these things, but I must unburden my mind. There is ruin before us;
I can scarcely stave it off for another week, and I have not had a
line from Mr. Randolph, and I am nearly wild."
"And you think a thousand pounds would keep things going for a little
longer," I answered.
"Yes, we could stay on until the end of the season if I could get
that money. It would pay the quarter's rent, and the tradespeople's
bills, and the big furniture bills. And long before it was out Mr.
Randolph must come back and put everything straight. His return is
what I am hoping for more than the rising of the sun."
"But oh, Jane, how--how am I to get the thousand pounds?"
"I was thinking that Duchess of yours might lend it."
"No," I said, "I cannot ask her; besides, I know she would not. Though
she is a Duchess she has not got a lot of money to spare. The Duke
manages everything, and she just has her allowance, and a great deal
to do with it. I cannot ask her."
"There is one other way in which ruin could be averted," said Jane
slowly, "but that I suppose is not to be thought of. Well, I have told
you, and I suppose it is a sort of relief. Things may go on as they
are for another week or two, but that's about all."
I felt that I trembled, but I would not let Jane see.
"You have been very brave. You have ruined yourself for our sakes," I
cried impulsively. But at the same time I could not help adding, "That
friend of yours who promised you seven thousand pounds ought not to
have failed you at a critical moment like the present."
"I won't have him blamed," said Jane, her face turning crimson; "it is
not his fault. Man could not do more."
"Jane," I said, facing her, "tell me the truth now; what is the name
of your friend?"
"You won't get his name out of me," answered Jane. "Mr. Randolph has
gone to Australia to put things straight with him. When I hear from
Mr. James Randolph all will be well."
"Have you never heard since he left?"
"Twice during the voyage, but not since. It is wonderful why he is so
silent. There, I seem to have lost hope."
"Jane," I cried, "why don't you give us up and go back to your own
little house?"
"Bless you, child, I'm not the one to leave a sinking ship. Oh, we'll
go on a little bit longer, and it has cheered me a little to confide
in you. I will work the ship for another week or so, and there will be
an extra nice dinner to-night, and spring asparagus, real English
grown, and your mother shall have the greater portion of it. Oh dear,
oh dear, if the house were twice its size we _might_ make it pay, but
as it is it's too big and it's too small; it's one of the
betwixt-and-betweens, and betwixt-and-between things _never_ do,
never, never. Child, forgive me, I am sorry to add to your cares. If
it were not for your mother I should not mind a bit."
I could do nothing to comfort Jane. I went up to her and kissed her,
and held her hand for a moment, and then went slowly away to my own
room. I did not attempt to shed a tear, I was not going to cry just
then, it behoved me to be very brave; there was a great deal to be
borne, and if I gave way it seemed to me that everything must come to
an end. I felt some pride in my young strength and my courage, and was
resolved that they should not fail me in my hour of need. So I put
away the new hat and pretty jacket and went down to mother, and I
amused mother by showing her the lace I had bought, and I told her all
about the Duchess, and mother was much pleased at the thought of
seeing her old friend on the following morning, and she and I sat that
afternoon in the drawing-room making up the pretty lace fichu, and I
resolved that mother should wear it the next day when the Duchess
came.
There was the most awful trouble hanging over us all; my mother's days
on earth were numbered, and my scheme, my lovely castle in the air,
was falling to ruins about my head. But all the same mother and I
laughed and were cheerful, and the visitors who came into the
drawing-room that afternoon thought what a picturesque group mother
and I made, and what a lovely room it was, and how much superior to
most boarding-houses; and they inquired, more than one of them, when
there would be a vacancy, and said they would write to Miss Mullins on
the subject. Poor Jane Mullins! she was bearing the brunt of the
storm. I pitied her from the depths of my heart.