Charles Palliser (32 page)

SPOILED DESIGNS

145

how to answer them; and she appeared to be particularly interested in the precise terms of the advice that Mr Sancious had given my mother and in the nature of the financial obligations that she had incurred and of which she now went in fear.

Clearly struck by her curiosity, my mother asked: “Do you think Mr Sancious cheated me? You see, Johnnie thinks I should have nothing more to do with him because his advice turned out so badly.”

“How absurd,” she said, turning and smiling at me. “What an imaginative child it must be. My dear Mary, I am sure Mr Sancious played an entirely honourable part.

There is always an element of risk in such a speculation and you admit yourself that he did not disguise this from you.”

“There you see, Johnnie,” my mother said, smiling at me triumphantly.

“Building speculations,” Mrs Fortisquince explained, “have been extremely profitable, but at the same time they have ruined many people in the last few years. I think you should certainly go and see this Mr Sancious again. He will advise you on how to make the best of your present circumstances.”

“Thank you, Jemima. I believe I shall.” Then my mother went on: “But as if that were not bad enough, we were robbed of all our luggage when we arrived here.”

“How terrible,” Mrs Fortisquince said calmly.

There was a pause and seeing that nothing further was to come, my mother, her eyes cast down, went on falteringly while I burned with shame: “Until some money arrives from the sale of our furniture, we have literally only a few pounds to live on.”

“I am profoundly relieved to know that you are expecting some money,” Mrs Fortisquince said. “I know only too well what it is to be pressed by creditors. It may surprise you to learn that I am myself somewhat embarrassed for money since my late husband — because of injudicious dispositions in his latter years — left me considerably less well provided for than I had anticipated. Were it not for that, I would gladly assist you.”

At these words my mother looked at me with a lack of reserve which laid bare how these words had disappointed and hurt her. I felt a sense of shame on her behalf that was mingled with resentment against Mrs Fortisquince.

“What will you do?” that lady asked. “I suppose you will have to accept a situation as a governess?”

“If I must,” my mother answered.

“Well, just fancy!” Mrs Fortisquince exclaimed with a bright smile. “Isn’t it strange how things turn out? To think that I was once a governess when you were the adored child of a wealthy gentleman.” When my mother did not return her smile, she moved slightly as if preparing to stand and said: “But how kind of you to think of coming to see me so soon after your arrival. Especially when you have had so many other things to think about.”

Presumably hearing the note of dismissal in her voice, my mother said: “I think we should go now, Johnnie.”

“My dears, must you?” said Mrs Fortisquince as she rose and rang the bell. As we stood she asked with languid curiosity: “Where are you staying?”

Before my mother could answer I replied: “The Golden-cross, Piccadilly.”

My mother looked at me in astonishment and horror. I frowned slightly to indicate that she should not contradict me.

Since the young servant came in at that moment, Mrs Fortisquince did 146 THE

MOMPESSONS

not notice this exchange. She kissed my mother farewell at the door of the room. “Mind you come and see me again, soon,” she said, and the way she paused before that final word strangely conveyed the exactly contrary effect.

We descended the stairs and the maid accompanied us to the street-door. As soon as it slammed shut behind us my mother exclaimed: “Johnnie, whyever did you tell such an untruth?”

“I didn’t like her,” I said.

“What can you mean?”

“Why did she want us to trust Mr Sancious so much?”

“Oh do stop that, Johnnie. You’re quite unreasonable about Mr Sancious. Why did you lie to her?”

“Mamma, don’t you think she could be connected with whoever it is who is looking for us, and that is why she wanted to know how to find us?”

“No, Johnnie, of course not.” Then she hesitated: “Well, I suppose it is just possible.”

“Anyway, there’s nothing to be gained by having anything more to do with her, is there?”

“I suppose you are right.”

“Then, Mamma, tell me what Mrs Fortisquince meant by ‘that night’? And who were you talking about?”

She clutched my arm: “Not now, Johnnie. Please. I promise you that one day you will learn everything. Only don’t force me to tell you anything now. I should not have taken you there, only I thought she …”

“Thought she what, Mamma?”

“I thought she would help you if not me. For the sake of others.”

Though this whetted my curiosity further, she would say no more and we were both silent as we walked back. I went over the conversation I had heard, trying to find an explanation that would fit what I knew, almost as if I were trying out different keys to turn a lock. What could have happened on that night so long ago when my mother and Mrs Fortisquince had last met? And who was the mysterious person whose “melancholy circumstances” she had referred to? Above all, what was the mystery about my father?

And what were Mrs Fortisquince’s feelings towards my mother — and even myself ?

When we got back to the hotel it was time for a light supper and then we retired.

(When I commented on how dirty our clothes were, my mother explained that it was caused by the London blacks from the coal burning in the many chimneys.) Lying on the sopha in our sitting-room, I slept badly on my first night in Town for the noises were so different from those I was used to : the rattle and rumble of carriages, the clatter of hooves on the cobbles, the shouts of the watchmen calling the hours and then at first light the cries of hawkers and the crash of church bells. Waking before dawn, I lay listening for sounds within the hotel and wondering what was happening back at Melthorpe. Was Bissett rising as early as usual in the empty house? Were the cattle going down the lane on their way to their grazing? And Mr Passant opening up the shop? It was strange to think of life continuing in the village just as always when I was there no longer.

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After breakfast my mother made enquiries of the hotel-proprietor and learned of a person called “Marrables” in a nearby street who kept lodgings and was believed to have rooms free. We went there immediately and found No. 37 Conduit-street to be clean and respectable-looking and the landlady the same. The only accommodations available, however, comprised the two bed-chambers and a sitting-room on the first pair back; and the rent, including the services of the maid, was four pounds a month.

I tugged at my mother’s arm and whispered: “That is far too much.”

“We have to live somewhere,” she whispered back. And so she insisted on engaging the rooms and, despite my protests, handed over the first month’s rent.

On the way back to the hotel I remonstrated with her for her extravagance.

“You can’t expect me to do without a servant-girl,” she protested. “And anyway, Bissett will soon be sending us some money.”

“We don’t know how much, Mamma. We should work everything out and see how much we can afford.”

“Sometimes you talk as if you didn’t trust me,” she said bitterly, and we quarrelled fiercely.

However, when we had returned to the hotel, ordered the reckoning to be made up, and begun to pack our belongings, she consented to sit down at the table and help me to work things out. We found that at that moment we had 24£ — less the 8s. or so that we anticipated for the reckoning. We expected that Bissett would send us about 40£, and I argued that even taking that into account, we could not afford to live at so high a rate.

“But you have left out of consideration the money that I will make from the sale of my
petit point.
I am a fine needlewoman, you know, and people will pay a great deal of money for good work.”

“Are you sure of that, Mamma?”

“You are unkind, Johnnie,” she said. “You don’t want to think well of your mamma.

But I know about clothes and I remember how much I used to pay when I was a girl, and I’m sure prices have gone up since then. And besides, if it came to it, I could always accept a situation as a governess.”

I recognised the phrase with its implications of gracious acquiescence.

“You’d hate it,” I protested. “You don’t know what a hard life it is.”

“Why, what do you know about it?” my mother exclaimed with an angry smile.

“I
do
know about it. That time we went to Mompesson-park, I saw how Lady Mompesson treated the governess. And the day I escaped from the garden — you remember? — I went to see the little girl I met there, and …”

“Oh Johnnie,” she interrupted. “That was very naughty of you.”

“Nobody knew I was there except Henrietta,” I said indignantly. “Anyway, I was going to say that she told me how much her governess, Miss Quilliam, had had to endure and that finally she was dismissed very suddenly and unfairly.”

My mother remained unconvinced, however, and I raised another objection: “But even supposing you could endure it, where would
I
live?”

“You should have to board at a school. We should find one nearby.”

“I should hate that. And if you are going to work, then so am I.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re much too young.”

“Many boys and girls as young as I work — and younger too. Sukey’s little brothers and sisters do.”

148 THE

MOMPESSONS

“That’s different, that’s the country. That’s just minding the cattle and that kind of thing. That’s not real work. It’s not the same in London.”

“Yes it is. Joey works.”

“Who is Joey?”

“Joey Digweed, the boy who came to our house with his mother at Christmas!” I said indignantly.

“Oh yes, but that’s quite different. And anyway, you would earn too little. It’s much better that you go to school now so that you may enter a profession and can earn your living as a gentleman. But anyway I’m sure it won’t be necessary.”

“But if you were to accept a post as a governess, how much do you suppose your salary would be?”

“I should think at least 30£ for I paid Mrs Belflower 25£ and I am sure that a lady —

who, you know, lives on terms of equality with the family — must be paid more than a cook.”

“Very well. Then how much would be needed for my school?”

“Well, since you will be boarding during the vacations, your fees and expenses must be about 15£. Then there will be additional expenses — clothes for both of us, physicians’ bills and medicines, holidays and occasional treats — and for this we should allow IO£. That means we could save 5£ a year and so in five years — by the time you’re of age to be articled or apprenticed — we will have, adding the money due from the furniture, a total of about 6o£ which should be more than enough for the premium.”

“I wonder if a governess would receive so much,” I said. “I have an idea: why don’t you register for such a post and find out what the salary would be, and then we may ask to be sent details of offers and may accept one that is really desirable?”

My mother reluctantly agreed. We went downstairs and while she was settling the reckoning, I went into the coffee-room where, out of idle curiosity, I picked up a newspaper. My eye was taken by advertisements for schools on the front page, most of which said something like: “Boarding establishment for the education of the sons of gentlemen. Excellent tuition. Fees 60 guineas p.a. and extras.” The lowest figure I could find for any school in London — or, indeed, within a hundred miles of it — was 25

guineas. However, the advertisements for some of them, all of which were far away in the North, said things like: “Children disposed of on the most reasonable terms. Twelve guineas a year or thirty guineas for final disposition.” I also noticed advertisements for governesses and their wages were all between 15 and 30 pounds.

When my mother came to find me I hastily put the newspaper down. She looked grave and I soon found out why:

“The reckoning was fourteen shillings, Johnnie. London seems to be much more expensive than I’d expected. You know, I think we should try to live in a provincial town instead.”

“But we came here to escape being found, Mamma!” I protested, loath to surrender the prospect of becoming a Londoner so soon.

“But we have done that now, Johnnie. Nobody will be able to pursue us beyond the Golden-cross-inn. So perhaps we could find a way to settle in a nice town. I’m sure we’d love Salisbury. I passed through it once many years ago and it was so pretty with its cathedral and the old Close around it, I thought I should love to live there one day.”

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149

“Or Hertford,” I suggested watching her face closely. “That looked nice, I thought.”

She flinched and turned away: “No, not there.”

We now left the hotel and were soon at Mrs Marrables’ house. When we were installed in our rooms we arranged our few possessions and then, as parlour-boarders, took our dinner downstairs.

Afterwards, when we had returned to our rooms and my mother had made herself a hot toddy, she said: “I feel a lot more cheerful now. I should write to Bissett now that we have an address to tell her.”

I had reasons for thinking this was not a good idea but I was loath to make them explicit: “Mamma,” I said; “I think you should delay writing because we may decide we will have to move soon. And you shouldn’t want her to send a bank-note here if we had left, should you?”

“Oh Johnnie, you are tiresome. Of course we won’t move from here for a while. But very well. I won’t write yet. Anyway, she won’t have had time to sell everything.”

I suggested we should go to a registry-office tomorrow and also start to look for a school for myself: “And when we are at the office, shall we ask if we can learn Miss Quilliam’s address?”

My mother laughed: “Really, Johnnie, you can’t claim acquaintance after meeting her just once.”

“But we know no-one else in London, do we?” She said nothing so I repeated: “Well, we don’t, do we?”