The day I have described was a Thursday, and on Monday the children's
mother did return, as she had said. Nothing very particular had
happened during the last day or two. Leila and Chrissie had gone on
much as usual, sometimes good-tempered and pleasant--so long, that is to
say, as there was nothing to ruffle or annoy them--but always
thoughtless and heedless, quite unconcerned as to the comfort of those
about them, thinking of nothing but their own wishes and amusement.
Still, on the whole, both the schoolroom and the nursery had been fairly
peaceful. Miss Earle had found less fault than she might have done; she
even let some small misdemeanours pass as if unnoticed, but she was
grave and rather silent.
"I hope she's beginning to find out that it's no use nagging at us,"
said Chrissie, though "nagging" had never been Miss Earle's way; but as
to this, Leila seemed doubtful.
"I don't know. I think there's something the matter with her," she
replied. And so there was; the poor girl--for she was still a girl in
spite of her learning and cleverness--was making up her mind that she
was not the right person for her present pupils.
"Perhaps an older governess would manage them better," she thought. "I
must speak to Mrs Fortescue when she returns," and in the meantime it
seemed wiser to avoid "scenes."
And Nurse, too, on her side, had been extra patient--scarcely
interfering in the squabbles and noisy discussions which every day was
sure to bring. She almost left off begging Leila and Christabel to
_try_ to be less careless and untidy; she only "scolded," as they called
it, once or twice, when the inkstand was overturned on Leila's new red
serge frock, and when Christabel wilfully cut a quarter of a yard off
her best sash to make an "eiderdown" for the doll-house bed.
"There's something the matter with Nurse too," said Chrissie. "She's as
gloomy as an owl."
"Poor Nurse, she's had bad news," said Jasper. "Her was cryin' all by
herself last night. I sawed her, and I kissed her, and she hugged me.
I was so sorry for her."
"Rubbish," exclaimed Chrissie; "you're so silly, Japs. I hate people in
low spirits. It's so gloomy, and when Mummy comes back, I suppose we'll
have to look rather gloomy too for a bit. Roland says it would be only
decent because of Uncle Percy. _I_ call it humbug."
But when "Mummy" did arrive, there was no need for any "seeming," for as
soon as her little daughters saw her poor face they were both startled
and shocked and really grieved; even the few days, less than a week,
that she had been away from them had changed her so sadly. And as I
have already said, neither Leila nor Christabel was actually
hard-hearted or wanting in affection down at the bottom of her heart.
It was all thoughtlessness and selfishness--selfishness truly not known
by themselves--that were the cause of their being so troublesome, so
disappointing, so very far from what they should have been, in so many
ways.
"Mummy," exclaimed Chrissie, always the first to notice things, "Mummy,
have you been ill? Leila, don't you see how pale poor Mummy is, you
stupid thing?"
Their mother glanced up beseechingly. She was kissing Jasper over and
over again, as he clung to her, though with tears in her eyes.
"Dears," she said, "my head is aching terribly. No, Chrissie, I have
not been actually ill, but I have not been able to sleep, and scarcely
to eat, since I left you. And poor Daddy, too--when I have taken off my
things and rested a little, I will send for you and tell you--" her
voice broke.
"I wish you'd tell us now," said hasty Christabel. "If it's anything
horrid, it's worse to have to wait."
But Leila was thoroughly roused out of her dreams for once, by this
time.
"Be quiet, Chrissie. It's very selfish of you, when Mummy is so tired.
I wonder--" and she glanced round the schoolroom, where they all were--
Miss Earle having left--"I wonder if--" but before she could finish her
sentence, Jasper, who had run off suddenly, made his appearance again,
very solemn and important, as he was carefully carrying a cup of nice
steaming tea.
"Ours was just ready," he said. "I knew it was, and Nurse brought it to
the door for me. Her wants you to take it while it's quite hot."
Mrs Fortescue took the cup from the kind little hands and drank it
gladly.
"Thank you, darling," she said, "that has done me good;" but Leila
looked rather put out, and murmured something about a "meddlesome brat."
"I was just going to order it," she said, but while she had been
"thinking," Jasper had been "acting!"
Their mother got up from her seat.
"Your own teas will be cold. Don't stay any longer just now. You may
run up to my room as soon as Roland comes in," and for once the little
girls felt they could not loiter or linger.
"There's something awful the matter," said Christabel, as they walked
slowly upstairs. "P'raps robbers have got into Fareham and stolen lots
of things, and Mummy's come back to send detectives after them, and--"
"Really, Chrissie, you are too silly," interrupted Leila; "as if Mamma
would look like that about a stupid burglary! Besides, there would have
been no secret about it, and it would have been in the papers."
"Then what can it be?" said Christabel, and as they were now at the
nursery door, she ran in, without waiting for an answer, exclaiming to
Nurse, quite heedless of Fanny's presence, "Mummy's come, and she looks
as ill as anything, and so dreadfully--"
Nurse shook her head with a slight glance of warning, which Leila
caught, and by way of attracting her sister's attention, pinched her
arm.
"_Leila_!" cried Chrissie in a fury, and the pinch would probably have
been repaid with interest, had not Nurse interfered.
"Fanny, we shall not have butter enough. Please fetch some more," she
said, and then, as the girl was leaving the room, she went on, in time
for her to hear, "of course, dears, your poor Mamma must be dreadfully
tired. Travelling so far in such a few days and so much to see to;" and
when they were alone she added, "Miss Chrissie, I do wish you could take
thought a little. I don't know what you were going on to say, but Fanny
is only a girl, and we don't want gossip downstairs about--" she
hesitated.
Chrissie's curiosity made her take this reproof in good part.
"About _what_?" she asked eagerly. "You know something that we don't,
and I don't think it's fair to have mysteries and secrets. We're quite
big enough to know too."
"Yes, especially if you scream things out for Fanny to hear," said Leila
teasingly. "Why, Jap has more sense than that," and she glanced at the
little boy, who was seated at the table, his tea and bread-and-butter
untouched, his face very grave indeed.
"You will understand everything very soon," said Nurse, feeling that the
time had come for her to try to make some impression on the children,
and thus help their mother a little in her painful task. "Your Mamma is
going to tell you herself, and I can only beg you, my poor dears, to
think of her before yourselves and to be of comfort to her."
There was no reply to this, beyond a murmur. Leila and Christabel felt
overawed and vaguely frightened and yet excited. They found it
difficult to swallow anything, but a sort of pride made them unwilling
to show this, so the meal passed in unusual silence, Nurse's voice
coaxing Jasper to eat, being almost the only one heard.
Leila's imagination, filled with the quantities of stories she had read,
was hard at work on all sorts of extraordinary things that might have
happened or were going to happen; Christabel was simply choking down a
lump that would keep rising in her throat, and trying not to cry, while
she repeated to herself, "Any way, it can't be as bad as if Dads or
Mummy had been killed on the railway, or died like old Uncle Percy."
Roland generally came home about half-past five, but he had tea
downstairs with his mother, or, if she were out or away, by himself, in
his father's study. It was less interrupting for him, as he usually had
a good deal of work to do at home, than with the others in the nursery.
So when a summons came for the little girls to go to Mrs Fortescue in
her own room, they were not surprised to find their elder brother
already there. His face, however, was not reassuring. Never had they
seen him so grave--Leila even fancied he looked white. He was sitting
beside his mother holding her hand.
She tried to smile cheerfully as Leila and Christabel came in,
followed--very noiselessly--by Jasper, who had slipped out of the
nursery behind them, being terribly afraid of being left out of the
family conclave!
"Why, Jasper," exclaimed his mother, when she caught sight of him, "I
didn't send for you--"
"No, Mumsey, darlin'," he replied, "but I'se come," and he wriggled
himself on to a corner of her sofa, where he evidently meant to stay.
The others could not help laughing at him, half nervously, I daresay,
but still it somewhat broke the strain which they were all feeling.
"We're going to talk of very serious things, my boy," Mrs Fortescue
said, persisting a little, "and you are only seven, you see. You could
scarcely understand. Don't you think you had better run upstairs again?
Nurse will give you something to amuse you."
"No fank you. Please let me stay. I'm not so very little since my
birfday, and if you'll explain, I fink I'll understand."
By this time he had got hold of his mother's other hand and was
squeezing it tightly. She had not the heart to send him away.
"What you really _need_ to know, my own darlings," she began at last,
rather suddenly, as if otherwise she could scarcely have spoken, "can be
told you in a very few words. Till now you have been very happy
children--at least I hope so--perhaps I should say `fortunate,' for your
father and I have made you our first thought and given you everything
you wanted or could want. We were able to do this because we have had
plenty of money. And now, in the most terribly unexpected way,
everything is changed. Our poor old uncle's death has brought a little
dreamt-of state of things to light. He, and therefore we--for you know
Daddy is his heir--just as if he had been his son, and almost all our
means came from him--he was on the brink of ruin. And we--we _are_
ruined."
The children's faces grew pale, and for a moment no one spoke. Then
said Roland, with a sort of angry indignation in his voice--
"Did he know it, Mother? If he did--I must say it, even though he is
dead--if he did, it was a wicked shame to hide it. If Dads had known--
Dads who is so clever--something could have been done, or at worst we
could have been preparing for it."
Mrs Fortescue did not blame the boy for what he said, but she answered
quietly--
"Your father felt almost as you do, at first," she said, "till things
were explained a little. It seems that poor uncle had no idea that the
state of his affairs was _desperate_, until the very last--it was the
shock of a letter telling this that must have caused the stroke that
killed him. Aunt Margaret found the letter in his hand, though he was
unconscious and never spoke afterwards."
"But still," Roland went on, though his tone was softer, "I can't
understand it, for Fareham belonged to him and it _must_ come to father,
mustn't it?"
"Yes, it is entailed. But it is not a very large property, nor a
productive one. It is a charming place as a home, but expensive to keep
up. Uncle's large income was from other sources--not land-investments.
Some of these must have begun to pay less for the last few years, and to
make up for this and be able to go on giving us as much as we have
always had, he was foolish enough to try other things--to speculate, as
it is called. He must have lost a good deal of money a year or so ago,
and since then it has all been getting worse and worse, and now--well;
practically all is gone."
"Still," Roland went on, looking puzzled, "there's Fareham."
"Yes," exclaimed Chrissie. "Why shouldn't we go and live there all the
year round and not have to pay for a house in London."
"Don't be silly," said Leila. "Hasn't Mummy just said that Fareham's
expensive to keep up, and if we've no money!"
"Hush, dears," said their mother, "don't speak sharply to each other.
Yes, there is Fareham, but that is what we have to depend on. It can't
he sold, but it will probably--almost certainly--let well, furnished,
just as it is, and that will give us a small income in addition to the
very little we have of our own. Your father is already seeing about it.
And this house is almost certain to let very quickly. It is only ours
for another year legally. We will just keep enough furniture for a
small home, where Aunt Margaret will live with us, and sell all the
rest. And your father _may_ get some work; he has friends who know what
he can do."
"Will he have to leave off being an M.P.?" asked Leila very dolefully.
Mrs Fortescue only bent her head.
"And--" began Roland again, hesitatingly, "I don't want to be selfish,
Mums, but I suppose I can't possibly go to Winton,"--the public school
for which he was preparing.
"Of course not," said Chrissie pertly: "most likely you'll have to be a
boy in an office, or even an errand boy."
"_I_ could be a errand boy," cried Jasper, his face lighting up. "Or
p'raps a messenger boy. There was one comed here the other day that was
almost littler than me. And they have such nice coats and caps."
The others could not help laughing, and again it did them good, though
Jasper got rather red.
Mrs Fortescue took no notice of Christabel's uncalled-for speech.
"Dear Roland," she said, "your school is one of the things we are the
most anxious about. If by any possibility it can be managed, it shall
be done. There are still fully six months before the date of your
going, and somehow--I can't help hoping for it."
Roland flushed a little.
"I--I feel as if it was selfish even to hope for it," he blurted out.
"No," his mother replied, "it is not. Your whole future may hang upon
it. You have always done very well at school, and now with your tutor.
You might get a scholarship at Winton and then College, which we have
always looked forward to for you, would be possible;" for Roland was a
boy not only of ability, but great steadiness and perseverance.
"It's--it's very good of you and Dads," he murmured.
Mrs Fortescue's spirits seemed to be recovering themselves a little.
She was still quite a young woman and naturally of a gentle, rather
childlike character, easily depressed and easily cheered. And Roland's
way of receiving the bad news seemed to strengthen her.
"There are some things I am thankful for," she went on. "We can at once
face it all and arrange to live in the new way, without any waiting or
suspense or any trying to keep up appearances. It is the sort of
tremendous blow that can't be kept secret. As soon as possible Daddy
and I will look out for a small house. I feel as if every day here was
wasting money."
Leila and Chrissie had been silent for a minute or two; Leila in a mixed
state of feeling, uncertain whether to think of herself as a heroine, or
a martyr. Christabel, on her side, was far from pleased at the "fuss"
as she called it to herself, that her mother was making about Roland.
"It isn't fair," she thought, "it's much worse for _us_. Boys and men
can work; being poor doesn't matter for them. Besides, Roland's going
to get all he wants, and we're evidently to be sacrificed for him," and
the expression on her face was not a pleasant one.
"And what's to become of its?" she inquired. "Lell and me? We'll have
to be governesses, or dressmakers, I suppose."
Mrs Fortescue could not help smiling, though she felt disappointed at
the child's tone.
"_You_ certainly have plenty of time to think about anything of that
kind," she said. "I cannot fix as yet what we must do, but in the
meantime I hope you will learn as much and as well as you can with Miss
Earle. She is such a first-rate teacher. I shall be terribly sorry to
part with her," and she sighed.
"_I_ shan't," said Chrissie, "she does nothing but scold."
"No doubt you deserve it then," said Roland gruffly. He was terribly
sorry for his mother, and his sisters' want of sympathy made him
indignant.
"I don't think either of them cares, as long as things don't touch
themselves," he said to Mrs Fortescue when Leila and Chrissie had left
the room.
"Things _will_ touch themselves, and very sharply," his mother replied
with a sigh. "They don't realise it at all, Roland; we must remember
that they are very young."
"They are just very spoilt and selfish," the boy muttered. "Just look
at Jap, Mums--what a difference! And he's only seven, and quite ready
to be a shoe-black if it would be any help to you. I tell you what,
mother, it will be a capital thing for those girls to have to rough it a
bit."
"I hope so. I suppose there is good hidden in every trouble, though it
is sometimes difficult to see it," Mrs Fortescue answered. "But,
darling, don't be too down on your sisters. If they are spoilt, and I
fear they are, it is _my_ fault more than theirs." Roland put his arms
round his mother and kissed her. "Nothing's your fault, except that
you've been far too kind to us all," he said, "and--about my still going
to school--to Winton, I mean. I don't half like it. Why should I be
the only one to--well, why should things be made smoother for me than
for the others? The girls will be thinking it's not fair."
His mother smiled.
"It's not likely that they will be jealous of your going to school," she
said. "I'm quite sure they don't want to be sent to school themselves."
"Oh, but it's quite different for girls," said Roland.
"Yes," his mother agreed. "But now, dear, I must send a word to your
father--just to tell him I got home safely, and--and that, in one sense,
the worst is over."
"You mean the telling us? Oh, Mums, it's all _much_, worse for you than
for us," said Roland, and somehow the words comforted her a little.
Upstairs in the nursery, it certainly did not seem as if the strange and
startling news had had any very depressing effect on Leila and
Christabel. The former was already established in her usual cosy
corner, buried in her newest story-book; the latter was only very cross.
She had discovered that Nurse had been crying, and turned upon her
sharply, though the poor thing was only anxious to be all that was kind
and sympathising.
"What in the world have _you_ to cry about, Nurse?" she demanded. "It
isn't your father and mother that have lost all their money."
"I have no father, as you know, Miss Chrissie," she said quietly, "and
my brothers take good care of mother. But _your_ father and mother have
been kind true friends to me, and you surely can understand that I can
feel sadly grieved for their troubles, and indeed for all of you, my
poor dears," and her voice broke.
Chrissie felt a little ashamed. She turned away so as not to see
Nurse's tears.
"It's no use crying about it, all the same," she said more gently.
"What can't be cured, must be endured."
"That's true," Nurse agreed, "and I'm glad to see you so brave;" but to
herself she wondered if the thoughtless child realised in the very least
all the changes that this unexpected loss of fortune could not but bring
about in the, till now, indulged and luxurious life of the Fortescue
children.