The respite afforded by the mont-de-piété was brief, and all that Kent
received from Beaufort in the next three weeks was twenty francs. The
Garins' faces in the hall were very glum, now, and the sum against
"_Notes remises_" at the top of the bills that came up to the bedroom
on Monday mornings had swelled to such disheartening dimensions that
the debtor no longer gave himself the trouble to decipher the various
items. In addition to this, the affairs of _The World and his Wife_ had
reached a crisis, and he learnt from the Editor that it was doomed. An
interval of restored hope ensued. The life of the paper hung in the
balance--then they went to press no more.
Beaufort declared that Kent's claim would be discharged without delay,
and, knowing the ex-proprietor's position, Humphrey could not believe
that he would be allowed to suffer. That the Baronet was ignorant of
his claim's existence and that it was Billy Beaufort who had to find,
the money for him, he had no idea; no more had he suspected, when he
took Cynthia to the Nouveau Cirque and applauded the contortions of
"Mlle. Veronique," that the artiste who stood on her head, and kissed
her toes to them, was in part responsible for their plight. Billy,
realising that the matter must be squared somehow, if things weren't
to become more unpleasant, spoke reassuringly of Sir Charles being
momentarily in tight quarters; and Humphrey, in daily expectation of
a cheque, made daily promises of a settlement to the Garins, while he
discussed with Cynthia what should be their next move.
To remain in Paris would be useless, and they decided that they would
go back to England as soon as the cheque was cashed. Perhaps it was
fortunate, after all, that No. 64 had not been let! In London he must
advertise again, and a post might be easier to find now that he could
call himself an "assistant-editor" in the advertisement. The days went
by, however, and Beaufort, whom he awoke, like an avenging angel, at
early morning and tracked in desperation from bar to bar until he ran
him to earth at night, still remained "in hourly expectation of the
money." Both Cynthia and Kent feared that their inability to pay was
known to everybody in the house; and they imagined disdain on the face
of the Italian who waited on them at meals, and indifference in the
bearing of Etienne when he laid the fire. The chambermaid's "Bonjour,
m'sieur et madame," had a ring of irony to their ears, and on Mondays,
in particular, they were convinced that she sneered when she put down
their tray.
The thought made the girl so miserable that Kent took an opportunity of
asking mademoiselle Garin if it was so, and she informed him that he
was mistaken.
"Nobody 'as been told, monsieur," she said; "oh, not at all! But,
monsieur, it is impossible that you remain, you know, if your
affairs do not permit of a settlement. Your intentions are quite
honourable--well understood; but my mother cannot wait. Her expense
is terrible 'eavy 'ere; vraiment, c'est épouvantable, je vous assure,
et--and--and my mother 'as an offer for your rooms, and she asks that
you and madame locate yourselves elsewhere, monsieur, on Saturday."
After an instant of dismay, Humphrey was, on the whole, relieved at
the idea of being allowed to depart in peace and to await his cheque
where the situation wouldn't be strained. It was rather a nuisance,
having to make a removal for so short a time, but when it was effected,
he felt that they would be a great deal more comfortable. He replied
that they would go, of course, and that madame Garin could depend upon
his sending her the amount that he owed the moment that his arrears
of salary were forthcoming. He said he thoroughly appreciated the
consideration that she had shown them, and could not express how deeply
he regretted to have inconvenienced her.
"Yes, monsieur," murmured mademoiselle Garin. She hesitated; she added,
in a slightly embarrassed tone: "You know, monsieur, my mother must
keep your luggage 'ere? Her lawyer 'as advised that."
"What?" said Kent. "Oh, my dear mademoiselle Garin! I will give your
mother an acknowledgment--a promissory note--whatever she likes! She
will only have to trust me for a few more days; I'm perfectly certain
to have the money in the course of a week. She won't keep the luggage,
surely? My--my dear young lady, think what it means with a wife and
child!"
Mademoiselle Garin spread her arms with a shrug.
"It is always 'a few more days,' monsieur," she said. "My mother will
permit you to take your necessaries for the few days, and the things
belonging to the little one. No more."
"Can I see her?" inquired Kent, rather pale.
"Oh yes; she is in the bureau."
"The servants can hear everything that goes on in the bureau," he
demurred. "Can't I talk to her in her room?"
Mademoiselle Garin preceded him there, and he tried his best to wring
consent from the old woman, but she was as hard as nails, and would not
listen for long. An "acknowledgment of the debt," certainly--the lawyer
had advised that, too, and he would prepare it--but their luggage,
jamais de la vie! The baby's box, and the bassinet; and for madame Kent
and himself such articles as were indispensable for one week. She would
agree to nothing else.
Cynthia was upstairs, playing with the baby, and Kent went in and shut
the door that communicated with the nursery.
"What is it?" she asked, after a glance at his face.
He wondered if he could soften the news, but it did not lend itself to
euphemisms. He told it to her in as light a tone as he could acquire.
"It won't be for any length of time, and we can easily make shift for
a bit," he said. "It isn't as if the child's things had to be left
behind, you see. A handbag will hold all we really need for ourselves.
What do we want, after all, for a week? It isn't a serious matter, if
one comes to look at it. It sounds worse than it is, I think."
She sat startled and still. Then she cuddled the baby close, and forced
a smile.
"My brown frock will do," she assented; "I shall go in that! Oh, it
isn't so dreadful, no. Of course, just for a moment it does give one a
shock, doesn't it? But--but, as you say, it sounds worse than it is.
Were they nasty to you?"
"The old lady wasn't very affectionate; the girl wasn't so bad. It's
cussed awkward, darling, I know. Poor little woman! I was funking
telling you like anything. It took me ten minutes coming up those
stairs, and I nearly went out for a walk first."
She laughed; she was already quite brave again.
"We shall get through it all right," she said. "Where shall we go? We
might go back to the hotel where we stayed first, mightn't we? We paid
there."
"I thought of that," he replied; "but it was rather dear, wasn't it? We
had better spend as little a possible; there are our passages, and we
mustn't arrive in London with nothing. I'm afraid we shan't be able to
get your ring out in any case."
"That can't be helped. I'm sorrier about your watch and chain. A man is
so lost without a watch. Saturday? Saturday will be mi-carême, won't
it? We shall celebrate it nicely.... Oh!" She sat upright, and stared
at him with frightened eyes. "Humphrey--Nurse!"
His jaw dropped, and he looked back at her blankly.
"I'd forgotten her," he said.
"To see our luggage detained--it could only mean the one thing!
Humphrey, what would she think? What can we do? She mustn't, mustn't
know; I should die of shame."
"No," he said; "she mustn't know, that's certain. Good Lord! what an
infernal complication at the last minute! _I_ don't know what's to be
done, I'm sure. Take the child in to her, and let's think!"
He filled a pipe, and puffed furiously, until Cynthia came back.
"Couldn't we," he suggested---"couldn't we say that as we're at the
point of going home, we don't think it's worth while carting the heavy
trunks to another place? Madame Garin has 'kindly allowed us to leave
them here in the meantime.' Eh?"
Cynthia mused.
"Then, what are we going to another place ourselves for?" she said.
"Yes," said Kent; "that won't do. Hang the woman! she's a perfect
bugbear to us; we're all the time struggling to live up to the teapot.
I wish to heaven we could get rid of her altogether!"
"That," answered the girl, after a pause--"that is the only thing we
can do. We must send her away, and _I'll_ take baby."
"You? A nice job for you! You could never go down to a meal; and
travelling too--imagine it!"
"I can do it; I'd like it! Anything, anything rather than she should
see us turned out and our luggage seized. That would be too awful! Yes,
we must get her away, Humphrey. We must get her away before we leave
here. Whatever happens afterwards is our own affair. She'll be gone and
know nothing about it."
"That's very good," he said thoughtfully. "But there'll be her wages,
and her passage back. Great Scott! and another month's wages because we
don't give her proper notice! How much would it come to? I've got two
francs fifty, and I've pawned my match-box. I'm afraid we must think of
something else."
"We could send her second-class on the boat as well. Yes, certainly
second-class. What does that cost? Have you got the paper you had? Look
for it, do! it used to be in your bag."
Kent searched, and found it. He also felt that their lot would be
comparatively a bed of roses if they were spared the astonished
inquiries of the nurse.
"Second-class tickets are twenty-five and sevenpence," he announced,
"and two months' wages are four pounds. Say five pounds ten. Well,
dear, I might as well try to raise a million!"
He blew clouds, and waited for an inspiration, while she walked about
the room with her hands behind her.
"Even if we could get it," she remarked, breaking a heavy silence, "I
don't know what reason we could give for packing her off so suddenly.
It would look rather a curious proceeding, wouldn't it?"
"We could say," said Kent, "that we have decided to live in Paris
permanently. She'd want to go then--the charms of 'Olloway!"
"Yes," answered Cynthia, "we could say that. But why in such a gasping
hurry?"
"Yes, it would be rather a rush, it's a fact. Well, I'll tell you! We
are going on a visit to some friends in the country, and they haven't
room for another nurse. Mrs. Harris's nurse will do all that's needed
while we're there.... But five pounds ten! I can see Beaufort and make
the attempt; but the man hasn't got it till the draft comes. You can't
get blood out of a stone."
"Let _him_ go and pawn his match-box, then, and his watch and chain,
and his engagement-ring. He must find it for you. Humphrey, tell him
you must have it. Say it's--it's a matter of life or death. Think of
what we've gone through already, trembling in case she suspected what a
state we were in. The blessed relief it will be to be alone and have no
pretences to make! I shall feel new-born."
"I'll see him to-day," said Kent, catching her enthusiasm. "He's often
in a place in the rue Saint-Honoré about four o'clock. What time is it
now? Go in and ask her--she's the only one among us with a watch. Tell
her mine has stopped--unless it has stopped too often."
"Yours is 'being cleaned.'" She disappeared for a second, and returned
to say that it was half-past three. "Hurry, and you may catch him now!"
she continued. "And--and, Humphrey, be very firm about it, won't you?
If he hasn't got it, make him give you a definite promise when you
shall have it. To-day's Tuesday--say you _must_ have it by Thursday,
at the latest. And come back and tell me the result as quickly as you
can. Wait, here's a kiss for luck."
Kent kissed her warmly--she had never before seemed to him so
companionable, such "a good fellow," as she did in this dilemma--and,
picking up his hat and cane, he ran down the stairs, and made his way
to the buffet in the rue Saint-Honoré at his best pace.
Beaufort was not to be seen in the bar, nor was he in the inner room;
but on inquiring at the counter, Kent learnt that a gentleman there was
now waiting for Billy, having an appointment with him for a quarter to
four. This was very lucky. Kent took a seat on the divan and ordered
a bock. Rolling a cigarette, he debated how he could put the matter
strongly enough. He had expended so much eloquence of late without
deriving any benefit from the interviews that he did not feel very
hopeful of the upshot. However, he was resolved that he wouldn't fail
for any lack of endeavour. After Beaufort came in, a little before
five, he sat watching him warily until the other man took his leave.
Beaufort expressed pleasure at seeing him, and asked him to have a
drink. Kent did not refuse the invitation, for it would be easier
to talk there, in the corner, than dodging among the crowd in the
streets, and he opened fire at once. He felt that his best card was
absolute frankness, and explained the situation without reserve. Billy
was entirely sympathetic. He romanced about Sir Charles, but was
subsequently truthful. A draft from the Baronet might be delivered any
morning or evening, but in the event of its not coming in time, he
would straighten matters out himself! "He was damnably short, but he
had arranged with a pal to jump for him. If he touched a bit to-morrow
--of which there was, humanly speaking, no doubt--Kent should have a
hundred and forty francs at night, and the balance of what was owing
to him early in the week." Damon would repay himself when the draft
arrived!
Such devotion demanded another drink, and though this left him with
less than a franc in I his pocket, Kent went back to the pension de I
famille in much better spirits, and feeling that he had good news to
impart. Cynthia looked upon the tidings in the same light. As the nurse
might learn from the servants that their rooms were to be vacated on
Saturday, they decided to speak to her without delay. Kent informed her
that they were going to friends in the country, preparatory to settling
in Paris for two years, and that she must make her preparations to
return to England on Saturday morning. This gave a margin for delay on
Beaufort's part. The young woman was greatly taken aback, and though
she did not wish to stay, there was real feeling in her voice as
she said how sorry she would be to leave the baby. She hung over the
bassinet, and tears came into her eyes. Then Cynthia choked, and began
to cry too, and Humphrey found her five minutes later with her face
buried in her pillow, sobbing that she felt "ashamed to have told lies
to such a conscientious, nice-minded girl."