A RAINY DAY.
Mamma knew nothing distinctly about the state of our affairs, but she
knew something generally of the provision made at her marriage, and she
thought we should have about a thousand a year to live upon.
I could hardly recognise the possibility of this, with Mr. Forrester's
forbodings. But if that, or even something like it, were secured to us,
we could go down to Malory, and live there very comfortably. Mamma's
habits of thinking, and the supine routine of her useless life, had
sustained a shock, and her mind seemed now to rest with pleasure on the
comparative solitude and quiet of a country life.
All our servants, except one or two, were under notice to go. I had also
got leave from mamma to get our plate, horses, carriages, and other
superfluous things valued, and fifty other trifling measures taken to
expedite the winding-up of our old life, and our entrance upon our new
one, the moment Mr. Forrester should tell us that our income was
ascertained, and available.
I was longing to be gone, so also was mamma. She seemed very easy about
our provision for the future, and I, alternating between an overweening
confidence and an irrepressible anxiety, awaited the promised
disclosures of Mr. Forrester, which were to end our suspense.
Nearly a fortnight passed before he came again. A note reached us the
day before, saying that he would call at four, unless we should write
in the meantime to put him off. He did come, and I shall never forget
the interview that followed. Mamma and I were sitting in the front
drawing-room, expecting him. My heart was trembling. I know of no state
so intolerable as suspense upon a vital issue. It is the state in which
people in money troubles are, without intermission. How it is lived
through for years, as often as it is, and without the loss of reason, is
in my eyes the greatest physical and psychological wonder of this
sorrowful world.
A gloomier day could hardly have heralded the critical exposition that
was to disclose our future lot. A dark sky, clouds dark as coal-smoke,
and a steady down-pour of rain, large-dropped and violent, that keeps up
a loud and gusty drumming on the panes, down which the wet is rushing in
rivers. Now and then the noise rises to a point that makes conversation
difficult. Every minute at this streaming window I was looking into the
street, where cabs and umbrellas, few and far between, were scarcely
discoverable through the rivulets that coursed over the glass.
At length I saw a cab, like a waving mass of black mist, halt at the
door, and a double knock followed. My breath almost left me. In a minute
or two the servant, opening the door, said, "Mr. Forrester," and that
gentleman stepped into the gloomy room, with a despatch-box in his hand,
looking ominously grave and pale. He took mamma's hand, and looked, I
thought, with a kind of doubtful inquiry in her face, as if measuring
her strength to bear some unpleasant news. I almost forgot to shake
hands with him, I was so horribly eager to hear him speak.
Mamma was much more confident than I, and said, as soon as he had placed
his box beside him, and sat down:
"I'm so obliged to you, Mr. Forrester; you have been so extremely kind
to us. My daughter told me that you intended making inquiries, and
letting us know all you heard; I hope you think it satisfactory?"
He looked down, and shook his head in silence. Mamma flushed very much,
and stood up, staring at him, and grew deadly pale.
"It is not--it can't be less--I hope it's not--than nine hundred a year.
If it is not that, what is to become of us?"
Mamma's voice sounded hard and stern, though she spoke very low. I, too,
was staring at the messenger of fate with all my eyes, and my heart was
thumping hard.
"Very far from satisfactory. I wish it were anything at all like the sum
you have named," said Mr. Forrester, very dejectedly, but gathering
courage for his statement as he proceeded. "I'll tell you, Mrs. Ware,
the result of my correspondence, and I am really pained and grieved that
I should have such a statement to make. I find that you opened your
marriage settlement, except the provision for your daughter, which, I
regret to say, is little more than a thousand pounds, and she takes
nothing during your life, and then we can't put it down at more than
forty pounds a year."
"But--but I want to know," broke in poor mamma, with eyes that glared,
and her very lips white, "what there is--how much we have got to live
on?"
"I hope from my heart there may be something, Mrs. Ware, but I should
not be treating you fairly if I did not tell you frankly that it seems
to me a case in which relations ought to come forward."
I felt so stunned that I could not speak.
"You mean, ask their assistance?" said mamma. "My good God! I can't--we
can't--I could not do that!"
"Mamma," said I, with white lips, "had not we better hear all that Mr.
Forrester has to tell us?"
"Allow me," continued mamma, excitedly; "there must be something,
Ethel--don't talk folly. We can live at Malory, and, however small our
pittance, we must make it do. But I won't consent to beg." Mamma's
colour came again as she said this, with a look of haughty resentment at
Mr. Forrester. That poor gentleman seemed distressed, and shifted his
position a little uneasily.
"Malory," he began, "would be a very suitable place, if an income were
arranged. But Malory will be in Sir Harry Rokestone's possession in two
or three days, and without his leave you could not get there; and I'm
afraid I dare not encourage you to entertain any hopes of a favourable,
or even a courteous, hearing in that quarter. Since I had the pleasure
of seeing Miss Ware here, about ten days or a fortnight since, I saw Mr.
Jarlcot, of Golden Friars; a very intelligent man he evidently is, and
does Sir Harry Rokestone's business in that part of the world, and
seemed very friendly; but he says that in that quarter"--Mr. Forrester
paused, and shook his head gloomily, looking on the carpet--"we have
nothing good to look for. He bears your family, it appears an implacable
animosity, and does not scruple to express it in very violent language
indeed."
"I did not know that Sir Harry Rokestone had any claim upon Malory,"
said mamma; "I don't know by what right he can prevent our going into my
house."
"I'm afraid there can be no doubt as to his right as a trustee; but it
was not obligatory on him to enforce it. Some charges ought to have been
paid off four years ago; it is a very peculiar deed, and, instead of
that, interest has been allowed to accumulate. I took the liberty of
writing to Sir Harry Rokestone a very strong letter, the day after my
last interview with Miss Ware; but he has taken not the slightest notice
of it, and that is very nearly a fortnight ago, and Jarlcot seems to
think that, if he lets me off with silence, I'm getting off very easily.
They all seem afraid of him down there."
I fancied that Mr. Forrester had been talking partly to postpone a
moment of pain. If there was a shock coming, he wanted resolution to
precipitate the crisis, and looked again with a perplexed and uneasy
countenance on the carpet. He glanced at mamma, once or twice, quickly,
as if he had nearly made up his mind to break the short silence that had
followed. While he was hesitating, however, I was relieved by mamma's
speaking, and very much to the point.
"And how much do you think, Mr. Forrester, we shall have to live upon?"
"That," said he, looking steadfastly on the table, with a very gloomy
countenance, "is the point on which, I fear, I have nothing
satisfactory--or even hopeful," he added, raising his head, and looking
a little stern, and even frightened, "to say. You must only look the
misfortune in the face; and a great misfortune it is, accustomed as you
have been to everything that makes life happy and easy. It is, as I said
before, a case in which relations who are wealthy, and well able to do
it, should come forward."
"But do say what it is," said mamma, trembling violently. "I shan't be
frightened, only say distinctly. Is it only four hundred?--or only three
hundred a year?" She paused, looking imploringly at him.
"I should be doing very wrong if I told you there was anything--anything
like that--anything whatever certain, in fact, however small. There's
nothing certain, and it would be very wrong to mislead you. I don't
think the assets and property will be sufficient to pay the debts."
"Great Heaven! Sir--oh! oh!--is there nothing left?"
He shook his head despondingly. The murder was out now; there was no
need of any more questioning--no case could be simpler. We were not
worth a shilling!
If in my vain and godless days the doctor at my bedside had suddenly
told me that I must die before midnight, I could not have been more
bewildered. Without knowing what I did, I turned and walked to the
window, on which the rain was thundering, and rolling down in rivers. I
heard nothing--my ears were stunned.