Charles Palliser (62 page)

What a pleasure it was to sleep between sweet-smelling linen sheets again in a bed that was free of vermin! My mother was quickly asleep but I lay awake for some time reproaching myself for my earlier mistrust of Mrs Fortisquince and wondering how many of our sufferings over the previous two years might have been avoided if my mother had not followed my advice.

When, very late the next morning, we went downstairs to breakfast, our hostess showed herself again so solicitous and concerned that I would have decided for certain that I had misjudged her before, had it not been that I still felt a shadow of unease in her presence. I could see that my mother now trusted her completely, however, for when Mrs Fortisquince insisted on hearing what had happened since we last saw her, she told her everything: How she tried to find a post as governess. How we became poorer and poorer because, instead of receiving some money from the sale of our furniture, we had been cheated and betrayed by our old servant. And how, as a consequence, we had been pursued by bailiffs.

At this point Mrs Fortisquince cried: “Bailiffs! So you are in danger of being arrested?”

My mother confirmed this and I watched Mrs Fortisquince anxiously, fearing that we were putting a perilous weapon into her hands if she were not well-disposed towards us.

“How much is the sum involved?” she asked.

“A hundred and fifteen pounds.”

“But my dear, you must not worry about so small a sum as that! I will stand surety for you and pay that debt so that the warrant is quashed.”

While my mother thanked her I told myself that if she kept her word, I had 282 THE

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certainly misjudged her. And clearly her financial circumstances had improved since our last meeting.

“But I have no means of paying you back,” my mother said. “And only a very uncertain prospect of gaining money.”

“Indeed?” Mrs Fortisquince said. “And what is that?”

And so my mother told her about Miss Quilliam and how she had appeared for so long to be well-disposed towards us. “Then she betrayed us,” my mother said.

“Mamma, we cannot be certain of that,” I pointed out.

“My dears, how odious!” Mrs Fortisquince exclaimed. “Whatever happened?”

“Well,” said my mother, glancing at me nervously while I frowned at her, “I have a document which … which could be worth a great deal of money.”

“Indeed? That must be the object that you were so very unwilling to part with last night. You were most odd about it, my dear.”

“I have a fear of losing it, for it could be very dangerous to Johnnie and me if I did.

What happened was that I resolved to sell it … ”

“To sell it?” Mrs Fortisquince interrupted. “To whom?”

Before I could intervene, my mother said: “To Sir Perceval Mompesson.”

“Really?” Mrs Fortisquince said abruptly. After a moment, she went on: “And what part did this Miss Quilliam play?”

“I asked her to go to Sir Perceval with a letter from me. But instead she went to … to the agents of that party who wishes nothing but harm to myself and Johnnie. So we were forced to flee our lodgings and had nowhere to go but here.”

“I see,” Mrs Fortisquince said slowly, her eyes cast down. Then she looked up, smiled at both of us and said briskly: “And thank heavens you did come here! Now the first thing is to pay off the horrid bailiffs. Where can we find them?”

I gave her the address of the magistrate’s office at which the warrant had been backed, and she sent her maid there immediately in a hackney-coach. She was back within the hour and we learned that the full amount due now came to one hundred and thirty pounds with costs included. Mrs Fortisquince sent Checkland back with a bank-draft for that figure, and by the time we had eaten a late luncheon my mother had in her possession a quittance for the full amount. She embraced Mrs Fortisquince and the two women clung to each other weeping.

When tears had been dried and dresses tidied, they got down to business.

“Now I must sell the codicil,” said my mother. “But how shall I approach Sir Perceval?”

Although she paused as if for Mrs Fortisquince to make an offer, that lady said nothing and at that I felt that my suspicions about her interest in the codicil must be ill-founded.

My mother went on: “It seems unjust to trespass further on your kindness, but I wonder if you would undertake this?”

Mrs Fortisquince hesitated and then said: “I see no reason why not.”

“Thank you,” said my mother. “And since I want to be able to repay you, could it be as soon as possible?”

“I can go this very afternoon if you wish it.”

This was wonderful news! So my mother wrote another letter to Sir Perceval to the same effect as the first, a coach was summoned and Mrs Fortisquince set off. While we waited we began to make plans. When we had paid back Mrs FACES FROM THE PAST

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Fortisquince, I calculated that we would have enough, even if we invested in something as safe as the three per-cent Consols, to live comfortably.

“We will go to Salisbury,” my mother declared. “It’s so pretty, Johnnie. We’ll take a little house in the Close and you shall go to day-school and we shall be able to keep a servant.”

When Mrs Fortisquince arrived back a couple of hours later she was in high spirits.

“Success!” she cried as she entered the house.

“How did Sir Perceval receive you?” my mother anxiously enquired. “Was Lady Mompesson present?”

“I will tell you everything, only let me get my breath back. You have met Sir Perceval, of course?”

“Yes, once,” said my mother.

“But you do not know the house?”

“No, I was there once as a child, but I hardly remember it.”

“Let me tell you then. Sir Perceval received me very warmly.”

“Lady Mompesson was not there?” I asked in surprise.

Mrs Fortisquince turned to me smiling brightly: “No, indeed she was not. As I say, Sir Perceval received me very warmly — the effect of your little note, my dear. He was delighted that you now wished to sell the codicil and expressed himself perfectly satisfied with the terms proposed. I assure you, nothing so indelicate as a precise figure was mentioned. May I know what
is
the sum that you previously turned down?”

“Seventeen hundred pounds,” my mother replied.

Mrs Fortisquince’s eyes widened with astonishment. “Only imagine,” she murmured,

“how much he must want it.” Then she went on: “Sir Perceval undertook that his man of business, a gentleman called Mr Steplight, would call upon you tomorrow to effect the transaction.”

Though I was slightly worried as to whether Sir Perceval had the authority to transact business of this importance in the absence of his wife, it really seemed that at last the tide of our misfortunes had turned. After passing the happiest evening that my mother and I had known for a long time, we went to bed looking forward — for once — to the following day.

We seated ourselves at the window after breakfast the next day to wait for Sir Perceval’s representative. At last, late in the morning, a magnificent carriage drew up outside the house, and to our delight we recognised the gleaming coat-of-arms painted on the door : for there were the crab and the roses which I recalled from the occasion when I had seen Sir Perceval coming out of the park at the top of Gallow-tree-hill. Two footmen in the chocolate and red livery that I remembered so well jumped down, released the steps, and opened the door.

Mrs Fortisquince came to the window just as a figure emerged from within the carriage.

“What a strange little man,” my mother remarked. “That must be Mr Steplight.”

“Oh, do you find him so?” said Mrs Fortisquince. “I think him rather distinguished. I suppose it must be he.”

Mr Steplight had a very large head for his small body, with a high-domed forehead, sharp features and slightly protuberant eyes. He was aged between forty and forty-five, and his toilet and dress were extremely elegant without being ostentatious.

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As the door-bell rang Mrs Fortisquince started smoothing down her dress, preparing herself just as nervously, it seemed, as we to greet her guest. When the servant announced him he came in and looked round with a promiscuous smile as if, not knowing who was who, he intended to leave no-one unsmiled at. When Mrs Fortisquince introduced herself and then presented my mother and myself to him, he bowed courteously to each of us, professed himself charmed to make our acquaintance, and then shook hands. I noticed that when he stopped speaking he dropped his gaze and lowered his eye-lids, revealing his rather sparse eyelashes, then slowly raised them.

Mrs Fortisquince asked him to sit and signed to the servant to pass round biscuits and wine.

While Checkland was present Mr Steplight maintained, with a little assistance from Mrs Fortisquince, a smooth flow of courteous trifles — the weather (its delightful unreliability), that part of Town (so convenient!), the lock of vehicles coming from Mayfair (so provoking), etc. etc. As soon as the servant withdrew, he modulated charmingly into the matter at hand: “I have come directly from Sir Perceval from whom I have received instructions, and I have a letter for you, Mrs Mellamphy, from that gentleman.”

He handed it to her, she broke the seal, and I read it over her shoulder:

“No. 48, Brook-street,

“The 19th. of July.

“Madam:

“The bearer of this letter, Mr Steplight, is my trusted agent and confidential man of business. He is empowered by me to give you 200£ in return for the codicil. When its authenticity has been verified the balance of 1,500£ will be paid to you.

“Perceval Mompesson,
Bart.”

The baronet must have dictated it for the hand was very different from the illegible scrawl that I remembered we had received at Melthorpe. My mother and I looked at each other and read on each other’s faces our bitter disappointment that only a part of the purchase-money was to be paid immediately. Yet it was understandable, for I well remembered how Sir Perceval and his wife had insisted, on the occasion of our interview with them at Mompesson-park, on the possibility of the codicil’s being a forgery.

“What does this mean?” my mother asked.

“A mere formality, I assure you, Mrs Mellamphy,” Mr Steplight said. “The balance will be paid within a day or two.”

“We must have all of it before we part with the codicil,” I said.

Mr Steplight smiled at me: “What a very precocious young gentleman. Most charming.”

“Hush, Johnnie,” said my mother. “But I am dismayed, Mr Steplight, not to receive all of it now.”

“Notice that the precise sum outstanding is specified,” Mr Steplight said. “In consequence, that letter itself is as good as a promissory-note. I am sure you cannot believe that a gentleman of Sir Perceval’s standing would default on an undertaking to which he had engaged himself ?”

My mother hesitated.

“The idea is preposterous,” said Mrs Fortisquince.

My mother looked from one to another of us in perplexity.

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“Don’t give it up, Mamma,” I cried.

Mr Steplight and Mrs Fortisquince both smiled at me — the former with manifest benevolence, the latter with a slightly forced demeanour.

“Most engaging,” the man of business murmured. “What delightful errors little people fall into.”

“Don’t be silly, Johnnie,” said my mother, and took the codicil from her pocket and unwrapped it.

Mr Steplight produced from his pocket-book a bundle of purple and white Bank of England notes for twenty pounds which he carefully counted. Then he held them out for my mother to take and she handed him the document. Mr Steplight glanced at it briefly as if it were of little interest and then secured it in his pocket-book.

He now rose to his feet and took elaborate leave of us, assuring us that we would see him again in a day or two. I watched from the window as he got back into the carriage and was driven away.

My mother paid Mrs Fortisquince back and put the rest of the money into a reticule that our kind hostess had given her. Later that afternoon Mrs Fortisquince treated us to a celebratory meal of roasted fowl, saddle of lamb, and quince-tart, to mark the beginning of our new lives; but though I was permitted to drink a whole glass of burnt champagne, I could not expel from my mind my reservations about the transaction that had just taken place.

We were not surprised to hear nothing from Mr Steplight the next day, but the day after that we stayed in the front parlour to watch for his return and when he had not come by the late afternoon, we began to grow concerned. When, no message having arrived, I finally went to bed, I could not get to sleep for worrying about the vulnerability of our position now that we had surrendered the codicil. Yet surely it could not be a forgery, for that could be the only reason why the agreement could be repudiated?

When I reflected that we had the letter from Sir Perceval, I felt reassured and eventually, though somewhat disturbed by my mother’s coughing, I drifted into sleep.

Suddenly I was wrenched from my slumbers by a loud hammering at the street-door.

“What can that be?” cried my mother.

We went out onto the landing and there we all — my mother, Mrs Fortisquince, the servant, and I — stared at each other in alarm. We descended to the street-door where Mrs Fortisquince called out to ask who was there.

“Sheriff’s officers,” came the reply.

My mother and I looked at each other in dismay at this while Mrs Fortisquince cautiously opened the door on its chain, looked round it and, apparently reassured as to the identity of the visiters, opened it wide. Three strange men in the familiar tri-corn hats and carrying silver staves came crowding into the hall, like a nightmarish repetition of the occasion when bailiffs had raided the house at Mrs Philliber’s.

“Which is Mrs Mellamphy?” one of them asked. He had a flat face like a well-worn penny.

“What do you want?” Mrs Fortisquince demanded.

“We are acting on a writ for non-payment of debt,” the man replied.

“The money has been paid!” my mother cried.