THE DAY OF RECKONING.
The hum of the busy London world came floating drowsily in through a
bedroom window in Berkeley Street, open to the hot and brilliant
summer day, and falling, unnoticed, upon the ears of Mrs. Oscar
Dalrymple.
"What an idiot I have been!" soliloquized she. "And what a cat that
Damereau is!"
The above pretty speech--not at all suitable for pretty lips--was
given vent to by Selina on her return from that morning visit to her
milliner, when the latter had wholly refused to listen to reason, and
both had lost their courtesy.
Her dainty bonnet tossed on the bed, her little black lace mantle on
the back of her low dressing-chair, Selina, who had come straight
home, swayed herself backwards and forwards in the said chair, as she
mentally ran over the items of the keen words just exchanged between
herself and madame, and wondered what in the world she was to do.
"If I had only kept my temper!" she thought, in self-reproach. "It was
always a fault of mine to be quick and fiery--like poor Robert.
Nothing but that made her so angry. What on earth would become of me
if she should do as she says--send the account to Oscar?"
Selina started up at the thought. Calmly equable to a rather
remarkable degree in general, she was one of the most restless of
human beings when she did give way to excitement. Just as Robert had
been.
"If he had but lived!" she cried, tears filling her eyes as her
thoughts reverted to her brother, "I'd have taken this trouble to him
and he would have settled it. Robert was generous!"
But Selina quite forgot to recall the fact that her brother's income,
at the best, would not have been larger than her husband's was. Not
quite as large, indeed, for Oscar had his own small patrimony of six
or seven hundred a-year in addition. Just now she could not be
expected to remember common sense.
The Dalrymples had a distant cousin, a merchant, or cotton-broker, or
something of the kind, residing in Liverpool, who was supposed to be
fabulously rich. He had quarrelled with the family long ago, and was
looked upon as no better than an ill-natured, growling bear. An idea
had come into Selina's brain lately--what if she wrote to tell him her
position and beg a little money from his rich coffers to set her
straight? It came to her again now, as she sat there. But, no that
ungenial man was known to hold unseemly debt and extravagance of all
kinds in especial abhorrence. He would only write her a condemnatory
answer; perhaps even re-enclose her begging letter to Oscar! Selina
started from the thought, and put away for ever all notion of aid from
Benjamin Dalrymple.
"How is this woman to be pacified?" she resumed, her reflections
reverting to Madame Damereau. "What a simpleton I was to provoke her!
Two or three hundred pounds might do it for the present. Where am I to
get them? If she carries out this dreadful threat and appeals to
Oscar, what should I do? What _could_ I do? And all the world would
know---- Oh!" she shivered, "I must stop that. _I_ must get some from
him, if I can. I will try at once. Ugh; what a calamity the want of
money is!"
She descended the stairs and entered the dining-room, where her
husband was. He sat at the table writing letters, and seemed to be in
the midst of business accounts.
"Oscar!"
He looked up. "What is it?"
"Oscar," she said, advancing close to him, "can you, please, let me
have a little money?"
"No, that I can't, Selina. I am settling up a few payments now, and
can only do it by halves. Others I am writing to put off entirely for
the present."
He had bent over his writing again, as if the question, being
answered, was done with.
"Oscar, I must have it."
"What money do you mean? Some for housekeeping. I can let you have
that."
"No, no: for myself. I want--I want--two hundred pounds," she said,
jerking it out. She did not dare to say three; her courage failed her.
He put down the pen and turned towards her in displeasure. "Selina, I
told you before we came to town that I could not have these calls made
upon me, as I had last year. You know how very small our income is,
and you know that your extravagance has already crippled it. The
allowance I make you is greater than I can afford. I cannot give you
more."
"Oh, Oscar, I must have it," she exclaimed in excitement, terrified at
the aspect her situation presented to her, for her mind was apt to be
imaginative. "Indeed, I must--even at an inconvenience. Only two
hundred pounds!"
"To squander away in folly?"
"No. If it were only to squander away, I might do without it; and I
cannot do without this."
Mr. Dalrymple looked keenly at her, and she turned from his gaze. "Let
me know what you want it for, that I may judge of the necessity you
speak of. If it is not convenient to you to tell me, Selina, you must
be satisfied with my refusal."
"Well, then," she said, seeing no help for the avowal, "I owe it."
"Owe it! Owe two hundred pounds! _You!_"
So utter was his astonishment, so blank his dismay, that Selina's
heart failed her. If her owing two hundred pounds thus impressed him,
what would become of her when he learnt the whole truth!
"And I am pressed for it," she faintly added. "_Please_ let me have
it, Oscar."
"What have you gone in debt for?"
"Various things," she answered, not caring to avow particulars. But he
looked steadfastly at her, waiting for the truth. "Dress."
"The compact between us was that you should not run into debt," he
said, in severe tones; "you promised to make your allowance do. You
have behaved ill to me, Selina."
She bent her head, feeling that she had. Oh, feeling it terribly just
then.
"Is this all you owe? All?"
"Y--es." But the falsehood, as falsehoods ought to, left a tremor on
her lips.
Without speaking another word, he unsealed a paper in which were
enclosed some bank-notes, and handed several to her, to the amount of
two hundred pounds. "Understand me well, Selina, this must never occur
again," he said, in an impressive tone. "These notes had a different
and an urgent destination."
"What a goose I was, not to ask for the other hundred!" was her mental
comment, as she escaped from the room. "It is not of the least use
offering Damereau two hundred: but she might take three. And where am
I to get it?"
Where, indeed? Did the reader ever try when in extremity to borrow a
hundred pounds, or what not?--and does he remember how very hopeless a
cause it seemed when present before him? Just as it appeared now to
Selina Dalrymple.
"I wonder whether Alice could lend it to me?" she cried, swaying her
foot helplessly as she sat in the low chair. "It's not in the least
likely, but I might ask her. Who's this?"
The "Who's this," applied to a footstep on the stairs. It was her
husband's. Some tiresome, troublesome old man of their acquaintance
had come up from Netherleigh, and Oscar wanted his wife to help
entertain him. Remembering the two hundred pounds just procured from
Oscar she did not like to refuse, and went down.
They dined, to accommodate this gentleman, at what Selina called an
unearthly hour--four o'clock; and it was evening before she could
get to Lady Sarah Hope's. Alice, looking ill, was alone in the
drawing-room, having begged to be excused going down to dinner. On a
table in the back room lay some of Lady Sarah's jewels; valuable gems.
Selina privately wished they were hers. She had to take her departure
as she came, for Alice could not help her. A curiously mysterious
matter connected with these jewels has to be related. It ought to come
in here; but it may be better to defer it, not to interfere with the
sequence of events connected with this chapter.
Nothing further could be done that evening, and Selina went to rest
betimes--eleven o'clock--disappointing two or three entertainments
that were languishing for her presence: but she had no heart that
night.
To rest! It was a mockery of the word, for she had become thoroughly
frightened. She passed the night turning and tossing from side to
side; and when morning came, and she arose, it was with trembling
limbs and a fevered brain.
Her whole anxiety was to make up this money, three hundred pounds;
hoping that it would prove a stop-gap for the milliner, and stave off
that dreaded threat of application to Oscar. What was to come
afterwards, and how in the world further stop-gaps would be supplied,
she did not now glance at. That evil seemed a hundred miles off,
compared with this one.
A faint idea had been looming through her mind; possibly led to by
what she had seen at Lady Sarah Hope's. At the commencement it had
neither shape nor form, but by midday it had acquired one, and was
entertained. She had heard of such things as pledging jewels: she was
sure she had heard that even noble ladies, driven to a pinch, so
disposed of them. Mrs. Dalrymple locked her bedroom door, reached out
her ornaments, and laid them in a heap on the bed.
She began to estimate their value: what they had cost to buy, as
nearly as she could remember and judge, amounted to fully five hundred
pounds. They were not paid for, but that was nothing. She supposed she
might be able to borrow four hundred upon them: and she decided to do
it. Some few, others, had belonged to her mother. Then, if that
cormorant of a French marchande de modes refused to be pacified with a
small sum, she should have a larger one to offer her. Yes, and get the
things for the wedding-breakfast besides.
The relief this determination brought to the superficial mind of
Selina Dalrymple, few, never reduced to a similar strait, can picture.
It almost removed her weight of care. The task of pledging them would
not be a pleasant one, but she must go through with it. The glittering
trinkets were still upon the bed when some one knocked at the
room-door. It was only her maid, come to say that Miss Alice was
below. Selina grew scared and terrified; for a troubled conscience
sees shadows where no shadows are, and hers whispered that curious
eyes, looking on those ornaments, must divine what she meant to do
with them. With a hasty hand she threw a dress upon the bed, and then
another on the first, and then a heavy one over all, before unbolting
the door. The glittering jewels were hidden now.
Oscar Dalrymple was thinking profoundly as he sat over his
after-dinner wine--not that he ever took much--and the street-lamps
were lighted, when a figure, looking as little like Mrs. Dalrymple as
possible, stole out of the house; stole stealthily, and closed the
door stealthily behind her, so that neither master nor servant should
hear it. She had ransacked her wardrobe for a plain gown and dark
shawl, and her straw bonnet might have served as a model for a
Quaker's. She had been out in the afternoon, and marked the place she
meant to go to. A renowned establishment in its line, and respectable;
even Selina knew that. She hurried along the streets, not unlike a
criminal; had she been going to rob the warerooms of their jewels,
instead of offering some to add to their hidden store, she could not
have felt more guilty. When she reached the place she could not make
up her mind to enter: she took a turn or two in front, she glanced in
at its door, at the window crowded with goods. She had never been in a
pawnbroker's in her life, and her ideas of its customers were vague:
comprising gentlewomen in distress, gliding in as she was; tipsy men
carrying their watches in their hand; poor objects out of work, in
dilapidated shirt-sleeves; and half-starved women with pillows and
flat-irons. It looked quiet, inside; so far as she could see there did
not appear to be a soul. With a desperate effort of resolution she
went in.
She stood at the counter, the chief part of the shop being hidden from
her. A dark man came forward.
"What can we do for you, ma'am?"
"Are you the master?" inquired Selina.
"No."
"I wish to see him."
Another presently appeared: a respectable-looking, well-dressed man,
of good manners.
"I am in temporary need of a little money, and wish to borrow some
upon my jewels," began Mrs. Dalrymple, in a hoarse whisper; and she
was really so agitated as scarcely to know what she said.
"Are they of value?" he inquired.
"Some hundreds of pounds. I have them with me."
He requested her to walk into a private room, and placed a chair. She
sat down and laid the jewels on the table. He examined them in
silence, one after another, not speaking until he had gone through the
whole.
"What did you wish to borrow on them?"
"As much as I can," replied Mrs. Dalrymple. "I thought about four
hundred pounds."
"Four hundred pounds!" echoed the pawnbroker. "Madam, they are not
worth, for this purpose, more than a quarter of the money."
She stared at him in astonishment. "They are real."
"Oh yes. Otherwise, they would not, to us, be worth so many pence."
"Many of them are new within twelve months," urged Selina.
"Altogether, they cost more than five hundred pounds."
"To buy. But they are not worth much to pledge. The fashion of these
ornaments changes with every season: and that, for one thing,
diminishes their value."
"What could you lend me on them?"
"One hundred pounds."
"Absurd!" returned Mrs. Dalrymple, her cheeks flushing. "Why, that one
set of amethysts alone cost more. I could not let them go for that.
One hundred would be of no use to me."
"Madam, it is entirely at your option, and I assure you I do not press
it," he answered, with respectful courtesy. "We care little about
taking these things in; so many are brought to us now, that our sales
are glutted with them."
"You will not be called upon to sell these. I shall redeem them."
The jeweller did not answer. He could have told her that never an
article, from a service of gold plate to a pair of boy's boots, was
pledged to him yet, but it was quite sure to be redeemed--in
intention.
"Are you aware that a great many ladies, even of high degree, now wear
false jewellery?" he resumed.
"No, indeed," she returned. "Neither should I believe it."
"Nevertheless, it is so. And the chief reason is the one I have just
mentioned: that in the present day the rage for ornaments is so great,
and the fashion of them so continually changing, that to be in the
fashion, a lady must spend a fortune in ornaments alone. I give you my
word, madam, that in the fashionable world a great deal of the
jewellery now worn is false; though it may pass, there, unsuspected.
And this fact deteriorates from the value of real stones, especially
for the purpose of pledging."
He began, as he spoke, to put the articles into their cases again, as
if the negotiation were at an end.
"Can you lend me two hundred pounds upon them?" asked Mrs. Dalrymple,
after a blank pause.
He shook his head. "I can advance you what I have stated, if you
please; not a pound more. And I feel sure you will not be able to
obtain more on them anywhere, madam, take them where you will."
"But what am I to do?" returned she, betraying some excitement. Very
uselessly: but that room was no stranger to it. The jeweller was firm,
and Mrs. Dalrymple gathered up her ornaments, her first feeling of
despair lost in anger. She was leaving the room with her parcel when
it occurred to her to ask herself, in sober truth, WHAT she was to
do--how procure the remainder of the sum necessary to appease Madame
Damereau. She turned back, and finally left the shop without her
jewels, but with a hundred pounds in her pocket, and her understanding
considerably enlightened as to the relative value of a jewel to buy
and a jewel to pledge.
Now it happened that, if Mrs. Dalrymple had repented showing her
temper to Madame Damereau, that renowned artiste had equally repented
showing hers to Mrs. Dalrymple. She feared it might tell against her
with her customers, if it came to be known: for she knew how popular
Selina was; truth to say, she liked her herself. Madame came to the
determination of paying Mrs. Dalrymple a visit, not exactly to
apologize, but to soothe away certain words. And to qualify the
pressing for some money, which she meant to do (whether she got it or
not), she intended to announce that the articles ordered for the
wedding festivities would be supplied. "It's only ninety pounds, more
or less," thought madame, "and I suppose I shall get the money some
time."
She reached Mrs. Dalrymple's in the evening, soon after that lady had
departed on her secret expedition to the pawnbroker. Their London
lodgings were confined. The dining-room had Mr. Dalrymple in it, so
Madame Damereau was shown to the drawing-room, and the maid went
hunting about the house for her mistress.
Whilst she was on her useless search, Mr. Dalrymple entered the
drawing-room, expecting to find it tenanted by his wife. Instead of
that, some strange lady sat there, who rose at his entrance, made him
a swimming curtsy, the like of which he had never seen in a ball-room,
and threw off some rapid sentences in an unknown tongue.
His perplexed look stopped her. "Ah," she said, changing her language,
"Monsieur, I fear, does not speak the French. I have the honour, I
believe, of addressing Mr. Dalreemp. I am covered with contrition at
intruding at this evening hour, but I know that Mrs. Dalreemp is much
out in the day; I thought I might perhaps get speech of her as she was
dressing for some soirée."
"Do you wish to see her? Have you seen her?" he asked.
"I wait now to see her," replied madame.
"Another of these milliner people, I suppose," thought Oscar to
himself, with not at all a polite word in connection with the
supposition. "Selina's mad to have the house beset with them; it's
like a swarm of flies. If she comes to town next year may I be shot!"
"Ann! tell your mistress she is wanted," he called out, opening the
door.
"I can't find my mistress, sir," said the servant, coming downstairs.
"I thought she must be in her own room, but she is not. I am sure she
is not gone out, because she said she meant to have a quiet evening at
home tonight, and she did not dress."
"She is somewhere about," said Mr. Dalrymple. "Go and look for her."
Madame Damereau had been coming to the rapid conclusion that this was
an opportunity she should do injustice to herself to omit using. And
as Mr. Dalrymple was about to leave her to herself, she stopped him.
"Sir--pardon me--but now that I have the happiness to see you, I may
ask if you will not use your influence with Mrs. Dalreemp to think of
my account. She does promise so often, so often, and I get nothing. I
have my heavy payments to make, and sometimes I do not know where to
find the money: though, if you saw my books, your hairs would bristle,
sir, at the sums owing to me."
"You are----?"
"I am Madame Damereau. If Mrs. Dalreemp would but give me a few
hundred pounds off her bill, it would be something."
A few hundred pounds! Oscar Dalrymple wondered what she meant. He
looked at her for some moments before he spoke.
"What is the amount of my wife's debt to you, madame?"
"Ah, it is---- But I cannot tell it you quite exactly: there are
recent items. The last note that went in to her was four thousand
three hundred and twenty-two pounds."
He had an impassive face, rarely showing emotion. It had probably not
been moved to it half-a-dozen times in the course of his life. But now
his lips gradually drew into a straight thin line, and a red spot
shone in his cheek.
"WHAT did you say? Do you speak of the account?"
"It was four thousand three hundred and twenty-two pounds," equably
answered madame, who was not familiar with his countenance. "And there
have been a few trifles since, and her last order this week will come
to ninety pounds. If you wish for it exactly, sir," added madame,
seizing at an idea of hope, "I will have it sent to you when I go
home. Mrs. Dalreemp has the details up to very recently."
"Four thousand pounds!" repeated Mr. Dalrymple, sitting down, in a
sort of helpless manner. "When could she have contracted it?"
"Last season, sir, chiefly. A little in the winter she had sent down
to her, and she has had things this spring: not so many."
He did not say more, save a mutter which madame could not catch. She
understood it to be that he would speak to Mrs. Dalrymple. The maid
returned, protesting that her mistress was not in the house and must
have changed her mind and gone out; and Madame Damereau, thinking she
might have gone out for the evening, and that it was of no use
waiting, made her adieu to Mr. Dalrymple, with the remarkable curtsy
more than once repeated.
He was sitting there still, in the same position, when his wife
appeared. She had entered the house stealthily, as she had left it,
had taken off her things, and now came into the room ready for tea, as
if she had only been upstairs to wash her hands. Scarcely had she
reached the middle of the room, when he rose and laid his hand heavily
on her shoulder. His face, as she turned to him in alarm, with its
drawn aspect, its mingled pallor and hectic, was so changed that she
could hardly recognize it for his.
"Oscar, you terrify me!" she cried out.
"What debts are these that you owe?" he asked, from between his parted
lips.
Was the dreaded moment come, then! A low moan escaped her.
"Four thousand and some hundred pounds to Damereau, the milliner! How
much more to others?"
"Oh, Oscar, if you look and speak like that, you will kill me."
"I ask how much more?" he repeated, passing by her words as the idle
wind. "Tell me the truth, or I shall feel tempted to thrust you from
my home, and advertise you."
She wished the carpet would open and let her in; she hid her face.
Oscar held her, and repeated the question: "How much?"
"Six thousand pounds--in all--about that. Not more, I think."
He released her then with a jerk. Selina began to cry like a
school-girl.
"Are you prepared to go out and work for your living, as I must do?"
he panted. "I have nothing to keep you on, and shall not have for
years. If they throw me into a debtor's prison tomorrow, I cannot
help it."
"Oh," shrieked silly Selina, "a prison! I'd go with you."
"I might have expected something of this when I married into your
branch of the family," returned Oscar, who, in good truth, was nearly
beside himself. "A mania follows it. Your uncle gambled his means
away, and then took his own life; your father hampered himself with
his brother's debts, and remained poor; your brother followed in his
uncle's wake; and now the mania is upon you!"
"Oh, please, Oscar, please!" pleaded Selina, who had no more depth of
feeling than a magpie, while Oscar had plenty of it. "I'll never,
never go in debt again."
"You shall never have the chance," he answered. And, there and then,
Oscar Dalrymple, summoning his household, gave orders for their
removal to the Grange. Selina cried her eyes out at having to quit the
season and its attractions summarily.
Thus, as a wreathing cloud suddenly appears in the sky, and as
suddenly fades sway, had Mrs. Dalrymple, like a bright vision,
appeared to the admiring eyes of the London world, and vanished from
it.