Part 31 (2/2)
”What happened yesterday?” I asked.
”A man came, a Mr. Pattens.”
”What has Mr. Pattens to do with us?” I said.
”You listen to me, my dear; things are so grave that I can scarcely smile, and you are so ignorant, Westenra.”
”Well,” I said, ”do tell me about Mr. Pattens.”
”He is the butcher, dear, and we owe him over a hundred pounds, and he is positively desperate. He asked to see me, and of course I saw him, and then he said he _must_ see your mother.”
”See mother? But mother never sees the tradespeople.”
”I know, love; but it was with the utmost difficulty I could keep him from not seeing her. He said that she was responsible for his account, and that if I would not let him see her he would do the other thing.”
”What?” I asked, ”what?”
”Well, my dear, it is coming, and you may as well bear it. There will be a bailiff in this house in no time. Yes, there'll be a man in possession, and how is your mother to stand that? You think whether you would rather just tell your grand friend the d.u.c.h.ess, and save your mother from the depths of humiliation, or whether you will let things take their course. Pattens is desperate, and he is the sort of man who will have no mercy. I have had to get the meat from another butcher--we can't hold out much longer. I have paid away the last s.h.i.+lling of the reserve fund I had in the bank. Oh dear, oh dear! why did Mr. Randolph go away? If he has gone down in the _Star of Hope_, why truly it is black night for us.”
”I will do my best, Jane, and do keep up heart; and oh, Jane, keep mother in her room, she must not know, she must not meet this terrible danger. O Jane! do your best.”
”I will, love. Even at the very worst day dawns but it is black night at present, that it is,” said the faithful creature.
As I was going out who did I see standing on the threshold but Mrs.
Fanning. Mrs. Fanning had been away for over a fortnight, and I must say we greatly enjoyed her absence, and I in particular enjoyed it; but when I saw her comely, good-humoured, beaming face now, it seemed to me that my heart went out to her. She looked at me, and then she opened her arms wide.
”Come to me, you dear little soul,” she said; ”come and have a hearty hug.” She clasped me tightly, and kissed me over and over again.
”I am only back an hour,” she said. ”And how is Albert?”
”I have not seen Mr. Fanning this morning,” I answered, and I tried to disengage myself from those cheery arms.
”Dear, dear, you don't look at all the thing,” she said; ”there's the brougham outside, would not you like a drive, honey? You and I might go out by ourselves. Come, dearie.”
”No, thank you,” I answered, ”I am going on some special business for mother.”
”Then whatever it is, can't you make use of the brougham? It was all built and painted to suit your style, love, and why should not you make use of it? Albert would be that proud.”
”Oh, indeed he would not, Mrs. Fanning; but please do not speak of it, I cannot, I really cannot.”
”Well, if you won't, you won't,” said the good woman. ”I have come back, though, and I hope to see a good deal of you; I have got lots to tell you. I have been collecting early reminiscences.”
”Of what?” I could not help asking.
”Of Albert's babyhood and childhood, they are that touching. I found a little diary he used to keep. I declare I laughed and I cried over it.
We'll read it together this evening. Now then, off you go, and do get some colour back into your pale cheeks; you are quite the prettiest, most graceful, most h'aristocratic young lady I ever saw; but you are too pale now, you really are.”
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