MR. DEAN AND HIS FUTURE RELATIVES.
It was quite dark by the time Mr. Swanland's clerks reached Homewood on
the rainy Saturday in question.
In the first place they lost their train by about half a minute, which
was not of much consequence as another started in less than half an hour
afterwards, but Mr. Bailey chose to lose his temper, and exchanged some
pleasant words first with a porter who shut the door in his face, and
afterwards with a burly policeman big enough to have carried the little
clerk off in his arms like a baby.
The young gentlemen, engaged at a few shillings a week to perform
liquidation drudgery in Messrs. Asherill and Swanland's offices, were
so accustomed to regard the members of their firm as autocrats that they
affected the airs of autocrats themselves when out of the presence
chamber, and were consequently indignant if the outer world, happily
ignorant of the nature of accountants, treated them as if they were very
ordinary mortals indeed.
Having nothing to do for half an hour save kick their heels in that
dingy, dirty, fusty, comfortless hall which the Great Eastern Railway
Company generously offers for the use of the travellers on its line who
repair to London Street, Mr. Bailey improved the occasion by delivering
a series of orations on the folly of that old sinner Asherill, who
detained them talking humbug till they lost the train, and having eased
his feelings so far, he next proceeded to relieve them further by
anathematizing Mortomley, who chose Saturday of all days in the week,
and that Saturday of all Saturdays in the year, to take up his residence
in Queer Street.
"I won't stand it," finished Mr. Bailey, while his eyes wandered over
that cheerful expanse of country which greets the traveller who journeys
by train from London to Stratford, as he nears the latter station. "I'll
give them notice on Monday. They could not get on without me. I'd like
to know where they could possibly find a man able to work as I can who
would put up with such treatment. On Monday I will give them a piece of
my mind they won't relish as much as they will their cut of roast beef
to-morrow."
Which was all very well, but as Mr. Bailey had been in the habit of
making the same statement about once a fortnight upon an average, since
liquidation came into fashion, his companion attached less importance to
it than might otherwise have been the case.
"What a day it has turned out!" was all the comment he made.
"Yes, and they are at home safe and snug before this, or on their way to
it. Well, it is of no use talking."
"I wonder if we shall have far to walk," said the junior, whose name was
Merle.
"Miles no doubt," answered Mr. Bailey, "and get drenched to the skin.
But what do they care! We are not flesh and blood to them. We are only
pounds shillings and pence."
Which was indeed a very true remark, although it emanated from Mr.
Bailey. Had he been aware how exactly his words defined his employers'
feelings, he would not perhaps have been so ready to give utterance to
them.
As matters stood, he grumbled on until they were turned out in the
drenching rain to get from Leytonstone Station to Whip's Cross as best
they could. Green Grove Lane was still leafy, and flowers bloomed gaily
in the railway gardens, and Leytonstone church stood in its graveyard a
picturesque object in the landscape, and there was a great peace about
that quiet country station with its level crossing and air of utter
repose which might have been pleasant to some people.
But it did not prove agreeable to Mr. Bailey. A soaking rain. An
indefinite goal. An unknown amount of work to be got through!
Very comprehensively and concisely Mr. Bailey read a short commination
service over Mr. Mortomley and his affairs, whilst he and Merle stood on
the down platform waiting the departure of the train ere crossing the
line.
He had got his directions from the station master, and they did not
agree with those issued at head-quarters.
"He should have gone to Snaresbrook. That was the nearest point, but,
however, he could not miss his way. It was straight as an arrow after he
get to the 'Green Man,' still keeping main road to the left."
Which instructions he followed so implicitly that the pair found
themselves finally at Leyton Green.
From thence they had to make their way back into the Newmarket Road, and
as that way lay along darksome lanes under the shade of arching trees,
through patches of Epping Forest, while all the time the rain continued
to pour down, steadily and determinedly, it may be imagined how much
Mr. Bailey was enamoured of Mortomley and his estate by the time the two
clerks reached Homewood.
But once within the portals of that place, circumstances put on a more
cheerful aspect. A bright fire blazed in the old-fashioned hall,
glimpses were caught of well lighted and comfortably furnished rooms.
Rupert, with a rare civility, addressed them with a polite hope that
they were not very wet, and Mrs. Mortomley, after reading Mr. Swanland's
note, sent to inquire if they would not like some tea.
With which, Mr. Bailey having readily responded in the affirmative, they
were provided presently. Rupert in the meantime having recommended half
a glass of brandy, which Merle gulped down thankfully, and Mr. Bailey
sipped sullenly, angry a whole one had not been advised.
When the dining-room door was shut, and the pair had made an onslaught
on the cold fowl and ham sent in with tea for their delectation, Merle
remarked,
"What a stunning place, ain't it!"
"Ay, it is a snug crib enough," replied the other, who had already
beheld wreck and ruin wrought in much finer abodes.
"They don't seem a bad sort," observed Merle, who, being young to the
business, still thought a bankrupt might be a gentleman, and who
moreover was not a tip-top swell like Bailey, whose father rented a
house at fifty pounds a year, and only let off the first floor in order
to make the two obstinate ends meet.
"What do you mean?" inquired Bailey.
"Why, asking us to have tea and all that," was the innocent answer.
"Pooh!" replied his companion. "Why, it is all over now. They don't know
it, but the whole place belongs to us, I mean to our governors. The tea
is ours, and the bread and butter and the ham, and not this fowl alone,
but every hen and chicken on the premises. Hand me over the loaf, I am
as hungry as a hunter."
Had little Mrs. Mortomley understood matters at that moment as she
understood them afterwards, she would, hospitable as was her
disposition, have turned those two nice young clerks out into the
weather, and told them to make up their accounts in the Works or Thames
Street, as they should never enter the house at Homewood so long as she
remained in it.
But she did not understand, and accordingly after tea the making out of
the liabilities proceeded under Rupert's superintendence, Mrs.
Mortomley's presence being occasionally required when any question
connected with her own department had to be answered.
"I do not see why these debts should be put down," said Dolly at last.
"Of course, all household liabilities I shall defray out of my own
money."
"No, you won't," replied Rupert brusquely. "You will want every penny of
your money for yourself, or I am much mistaken."
At length Mr. Bailey bethought him of asking Rupert about the return
trains, and finding that the last was due in three quarters of an hour,
stated that as it seemed impossible the work could be finished then, he
and Merle would be down at about eight o'clock on Monday morning.
Having given which promise he went out into the night, followed by his
junior, and Homewood was shortly after shut up, and every member of the
household, tired out with the events of the day, went early to bed, and
woke the next morning with a sense of rest and ease as strange as it
proved transitory.
In the afternoon Mr. Dean called and asked specially for Mrs. Mortomley,
and when Dolly went down to him, she found that he wished to tell her in
his own formal way that the idea of Miss Halling, his promised wife, the
future mistress of Elm Park remaining in a house where bailiffs were
unhappily located, had troubled and was troubling him exceedingly. Of
course, he felt every sympathy for Mrs. Mortomley in her sad position,
and for Mr. Mortomley in his present unfortunate circumstances, but--
"In a word," broke in Dolly, "you want Antonia to leave Homewood and go
to your sister. That is it, is it not, Mr. Dean? Of course I can make
no objection, and when affairs are arranged here she can return to be
married from her uncle's house."
For a moment Mr. Dean was touched. He saw Dolly believed matters would
be so arranged that Homewood should still belong to Mortomley, and that
she offered hospitality to a woman she cordially disliked on this
supposition. And he thought it rather nice of the little woman, whose
face he could not avoid noticing was very white and pinched, though she
carried the trouble lightly, and, in his opinion, with almost unbecoming
indifference. But Mr. Dean quickly recovered his balance. These people
were paupers. Great heavens! literally paupers, except for the few
thousands left of Mrs. Mortomley's fortune. They might ask him to lend
them money. Presuming upon their relationship to Miss Halling, they
might even expect to be asked to stay at his house--at Elm Park--a
gentleman's mansion, across the threshold of which no bankrupt's foot
had ever passed. At the bare idea of such complications, Mr. Dean turned
hot and cold alternately.
He had done much for these Mortomley people already. He had broke the
news of the impending catastrophe to Mr. Forde, and after that act of
weakness what might they not expect in the future!
When Mr. Dean thought of this he felt horrified at the possible
consequences resulting from his extraordinary amiability. Indeed, he
felt so horrified that dismay for a minute or two tied his tongue, and
it was Dolly who at last broke the silence. Leaning back in an
easy-chair, her thin white hands clasped together, her eyes too large
and bright, but still looking happy and restful, she said, "I should
like very much, Mr. Dean, to know where your thoughts are wandering?"
Mr. Dean, thus aroused, answered with a diplomatic truthfulness which
afterwards amazed himself.
"I was thinking of you and Mr. Mortomley, and Miss Halling and myself."
"Yes?" Dolly said inquiringly. There had been a time when she would have
remarked all four were interesting subjects, but on that especial
Sunday she was a different woman from the Mrs. Mortomley of Mr. Dean's
earlier recollection.
"To a lady possessed of your powers of observation," began Mr. Dean, "I
need scarcely remark that difficulties might arise were Miss Halling to
take up even a temporary abode with my sister, and therefore--"
"I comprehend what you mean, and I know why you hesitate," said Mrs.
Mortomley, as her visitor paused and cast about how to finish his
sentence, "but I really do not see what can be done. I am afraid," she
added, with a pucker of her forehead, which had latterly grown habitual
when she was troubled or perplexed. "Antonia would not like my Aunt
Celia. My aunt is goodness itself, but a very little eccentric. Still,
if she understood the position--"
"I hope you do not think me capable of adding to your anxiety at such a
time as this," interposed Mr. Dean pompously.
All unconsciously Mrs. Mortomley had managed to offend his dignity as
she had never offended it before when she suggested the idea of
quartering the future mistress of Elm Park on a spinster living upon an
extremely limited income in some remote wilds.
"I should not for a moment entertain the idea of asking any of your
relations or friends to receive the lady whom I hope soon to call my
wife. I have anxiously considered the whole matter, and after mature
deliberation have arrived at the conclusion that Mr. Rupert Halling is
the only relative with whom Miss Halling can now with propriety reside
until she gives me the right to take her to Elm Park."
"You propose then that Rupert shall leave Homewood also," said Mrs.
Mortomley. She wore a shawl thrown over her shoulders, for the rain had
made her feel chilly, and Mr. Dean did not notice that under it she
clasped both hands tightly across her heart as she spoke.
"With that view," he answered, "I took suitable apartments yesterday in
the immediate vicinity of his studio."
"I did not know he had a studio," she remarked.
"With commendable prudence and foresight he secured one a couple of
months back in the neighbourhood of the Regent's Park."
"And it was there I suppose he painted that picture he sold for twenty
pounds."
"Twenty guineas," amended Mr. Dean. "A friend of mine did pay him that
very handsome amount for a sketch of a little girl which the purchaser
imagined bore some resemblance to a deceased daughter of his own."
"His model being Lenore, doubtless."
"I should say most probably."
Dolly did not answer. She sat for a minute or two looking out at the
leaves littering the lawn, at the sodden earth, at the late blooming
flowers beaten almost into the earth by reason of the violence of the
rain--then she said,
"And so they, Antonia and Rupert, go to those lodgings you spoke of?"
"Yes, on Tuesday next, if Miss Halling can complete her preparations in
the time."
"Rats leave a sinking ship," murmured Mrs. Mortomley to herself.
"I beg your pardon," observed Mr. Dean, not catching the drift of her
pleasant sentence.
"I said," explained Dolly, speaking very slowly and distinctly, "that
rats leave a sinking ship. So the story goes at all events, and I, for
one, see no reason to doubt its truthfulness. If you think of it, what
more natural than that they should go. They are detestable creatures in
prosperity. Why should they alter their natures in adversity?"
"I am very stupid I fear," said Mr. Dean; "but I confess I fail to see
the drift of your remark."
"I can make it plain enough," she retorted. "Here are a man and a woman
who must have starved unless we or you had provided them with the
necessaries of life. It was not very pleasant for me to have Antonia
Halling here, but she has had the best we could give her; and never a
cross look or grudging word to mar her enjoyment of the good things of
this life--things she prizes very highly.
"As for Rupert, he has been treated by my husband as a brother or a son.
We made no difference between them and Lenore, except that I have
denied my child what she wanted sometimes, and they have never been
denied.
"And the end of it all is that when my husband's affairs go wrong, they
leave us, and allow a stranger to break the tidings. That is why I call
them rats, Mr. Dean--your _fiancee_ and her brother. I am sure heaven
made Antonia Halling a helpmate--meet for you--for she is as selfish, as
worldly, as calculating, and as cold as even Mr. Dean, of Elm Park."
Having finished which explicit speech, Dolly rose and gathered her shawl
more closely about her figure, bowed, and would have left the room had
Mr. Dean not hindered her departure.
"Mrs. Mortomley," he said, "I can make allowances for a lady placed as
you are; but I beg leave to say you are utterly mistaken in your
estimate of me."
"I am not mistaken," she replied. "I understand you better than you
understand yourself. Do you think I cannot see to the bottom of so
shallow a stream? Do you imagine for a moment I fail to understand, that
last Thursday night you turned the question over and over in your mind
as to whether you could give up Antonia Halling when I made you
understand the position of her uncle's affairs? You have decided and
rightly you cannot give her up. No jury would hold the non-success of a
relation a sufficient reason for jilting a woman.
"And I really believe Antonia is so thoroughly alive to her own
interests that she would take the matter into court. Good-bye, Mr. Dean.
You and your future wife are a representative couple."
"What an awful woman," said Mr. Dean, addressing himself after her
departure. "I declare," he added, speaking to Rupert, who immediately
after entered the room, "I would not marry Mrs. Mortomley if she had
twenty thousand a year."
"How rare it is to find two people so unanimous in opinion," remarked
Rupert with a sneer. He did not like Mr. Dean at the best of times, and
at that moment he had a grudge against him, because he knew it was Mr.
Dean who must have told Mr. Forde about that twenty guineas for a
sketch of the small Lenore. "I am sure poor mistaken Dolly would not
marry you if you settled fifty thousand per annum on her. But what has
she been saying to cause such vehement expression of opinion?"
"She says you and your sister are rats; that you have eaten of the best
in the ship, and leave it now it is sinking."
"Upon my honour I am afraid Mrs. Mortomley is right," was the reply.
"Hers is a view of the question which did not strike me before; but it
is not open to dispute. Still what would the dear little soul have one
do? Stay with the vessel till it disappears? If she speak the word, I
for one am willing to do so."
"I hoped to hear common sense from one member of this household at all
events," was Mr. Dean's reply, uttered loftily and contemptuously.
"So you would from me if I were not in love with my aunt," Rupert
answered tranquilly. "More or less, less sometimes than more, I have
always been in love with Dolly. She is not pretty, except occasionally,
and she can be very disagreeable; and she is some years older than
myself; and she is an adept at spending money; and upon the whole she is
not what the world considers a desirable wife for a struggling man. But
she has--to use a very vulgar expression--pluck, and by Jove if I live
to be a hundred, I shall never see a woman I admire so thoroughly as my
uncle's wife. But this is sentimental," Mr. Halling proceeded. "And I
stifle it at the command of common sense. On Tuesday I leave Homewood
for those desirable apartments in which you wish me to play propriety to
the future lady of The Elms."
Through the rain Mr. Dean drove away foaming with rage. Could he have
lived his time over again, no Miss Halling would ever have been asked to
grace his abode. No young person, with a vagabond brother in a velvet
suit, should ever have been mistress of The Elms.
But Mrs. Mortomley had put the case in a nutshell. He must marry
Antonia, though Mortomley were bankrupt ten thousand times over.
And Antonia knew it, and under the roof which had sheltered her for so
many a long night, she returned thanks for the fact to whatever deity
she actually worshipped.
It is not for me to state what god hers chanced to be, but certainly it
was not that One of whom Christians speak reverently.