Part 30 (1/2)
”We are ruined,” she repeated, ”and it is time you should know it.”
”But how?” I asked.
”How?” she cried with pa.s.sion, ”because we have debts which we cannot meet--we have debts, debts, debts on every side; debts as high as the house itself. Because we deceived our landlord, unintentionally it is true, but nevertheless we deceived him, with promises which we cannot fulfil, he can take back the lease of this house if he pleases, and take it back he will, because our paying guests don't pay, because the whole thing from first to last is a miserable failure. There, Westenra, that's about the truth. It was your thought in the first instance, child, and though I don't want to blame you, for you did it with good meaning, and in utter ignorance, yet nevertheless you must take some of the brunt of this terrible time. I cannot bear the whole weight any longer. I have kept it to myself, and it has driven me nearly mad. Yes, we are ruined.”
”You must explain more fully,” was my answer.
Her agitation was so great that by its very force it kept me quiet. I had never seen her absolutely without composure before; her usually brisk, confident manner had deserted her.
”You have kept me in the dark,” I continued, ”and you have done wrong, very wrong. Now please explain how and why we are ruined.”
”Here are some of the accounts; understand them if you can,” she said.
She opened a drawer and pulled out a great account book. ”Now look here,” she said, ”the house is absolutely full, there is not a single room to be let; I declined four fresh parties only this morning; Emma is perfectly tired opening the door to people who want to come here to board, the house has got a name and a good one. It is said of it that it is in Bloomsbury and yet smacks of the West End. You and your mother and Jim Randolph, bless him! have to answer for that. It's all your doing, and the people have talked. Everything has been done that could be done to make the place popular, and the place is popular, but now, you look here. Here are the takings”--she pointed to one side of the ledger--”here are the expenses”--she pointed to the other--”expenses so much, takings so much, look at the balance, Westenra. Of course you don't know much about accounts, but you can see for yourself.”
I did look, and I did see, and my heart seemed to stand still, for the balance on the wrong side of the ledger represented many pounds a week.
”Then this means,” I said, for I was sharp enough in my way, ”that the longer we go on the heavier we get into debt. Every week we lose so much.”
”We do, dear, that's just it.”
”But cannot we retrench?”
”Retrench! how? Do you suppose the boarders will do without their comfortable hot coffee, and the other luxuries on the board at breakfast? Do you suppose they will do without their lunch, their afternoon tea with plenty of cakes and plenty of cream, their late dinner, at which appears all the luxuries of the season?--why, the house would be empty in a week. And we cannot have fewer servants, we have only four, very much less than most people would have for an establishment of this kind, and Emma already complains of pains in her legs, and says she is worn out going up and down stairs.”
”But the place looks so thriving,” I said.
”Looks! what have looks to do with it?” said Jane. ”I feel nearly mad, for I always thought I could pull the thing through; but it's going on at a loss, and nothing can go on at a loss; and then, dear, there are bad debts--one or two people have shuffled off without paying, and there are the furniture bills, they are not all met yet.”
”But I thought,” I said, ”that the seven thousand pounds----”
”Ay,” cried Jane, ”and that is where the bitterness comes in. That money was supposed to be all right, to be as sure and safe as the Bank of England, and it is not all right, it is all wrong. But that is James Randolph's story. When he comes back he will explain the rights of it to you, my dear. If I could only hear from him that the money was safe, we could wind up honourably in the autumn and stop the concern; but I have not heard, I have not heard; there has been nothing but silence, and the silence drives me mad. Westenra, what is to be done?”
”Give the whole thing up now,” I said, ”there is nothing else to be done. We must stop.”
”Stop!” answered Jane. ”You talk with the ignorance of a young girl.
If we stop now we will have the whole house of cards about our ears; the tradespeople will sue for their money, the bailiffs will be in and will take possession of the furniture, even the very bed your mother sleeps on will be taken from under her. The awful, terrible position is, that we can neither stop nor go on. It is fearful, fearful. Oh, if I could only borrow a thousand pounds within a week, I would not care a farthing. I would not even care if your mother was strong, but to have this crash come about her in her present state of health, why, it would kill her. Westenra, poor child, you are young and unaccustomed to these things, but I must unburden my mind. There is ruin before us; I can scarcely stave it off for another week, and I have not had a line from Mr. Randolph, and I am nearly wild.”
”And you think a thousand pounds would keep things going for a little longer,” I answered.
”Yes, we could stay on until the end of the season if I could get that money. It would pay the quarter's rent, and the tradespeople's bills, and the big furniture bills. And long before it was out Mr.
Randolph must come back and put everything straight. His return is what I am hoping for more than the rising of the sun.”
”But oh, Jane, how--how am I to get the thousand pounds?”
”I was thinking that d.u.c.h.ess of yours might lend it.”