In the Year of Jubilee Part 47

It was significant that he did not speak of his mother.

They drove to the railway station, Peachey no less excited than the child. From here he despatched a telegram to his partners, saying that he should be absent for a day or two.

Then the train, struggling slowly out of London's welter, through the newest outposts of gloom and grime, bore them, hearts companioned in love and blamelessness, to the broad sunny meadows and the sweet hop-gardens of Kent.

CHAPTER 5

'Serves her jolly well right,' said Beatrice.

'A lot _she'll_ care,' said f.a.n.n.y. 'I should think myself precious lucky. She gets rid of him, and of the kid too, and has as much as she wants to live on. It's better than she deserves.--Do you believe he's been carrying on with that girl?'

Miss. French laughed contemptuously.

'Not he!'

'Well, there's been a jolly good row to-night, if we never see another.

We shall all be in the papers!' The prospect had charms for f.a.n.n.y. 'What are you going to do? Live here till Christmas?'

Beatrice was quietly reviewing the situation. She kept silence, and her sister also became meditative. Suddenly f.a.n.n.y inquired:

'What sort of a place is Brussels?'

'Brussels? Why? I know nothing about it. Not much of a place, I think; sprouts come from there, don't they?'

'It's a big town,' said the other, 'and a lively sort of place, they say.

'Why do you ask me, if you know? What about it?'

As usual when performing the operation which, in her, answered to thought, f.a.n.n.y shuffled with her hands on her waist. At a distance from Beatrice she stood still, and said:

'Some one I know is going there. I've a good mind to go too. I want to see abroad.'

Her sister asked several searching questions, but f.a.n.n.y would not make known whether the friend was male or female.

'I shouldn't be much surprised,' remarked the woman of business, indifferently, 'if you go and make a fool of yourself before long. That Mrs. Damerel is up to some game with you; any one could see it with half an eye. I suppose it isn't Lord that's going to Brussels?'

f.a.n.n.y sputtered her disdain.

'If you had any common sense,' pursued her sister, 'you'd stick to him; but you haven't. Oh yes, you think you can do better. Very well, we shall see. If you find yourself in a hole one of these days, don't expect _me_ to pull you out. I wouldn't give you a penny to save you from the workhouse.'

'Wait till you're asked. I know where all _your_ money 'll go to. And that's into Crewe's pocket. He'll fool you out of all you have.'

Beatrice reddened with wrath. But, unlike the other members of her family, she could command her tongue. f.a.n.n.y found it impossible to draw another word from her.

On returning from the police-station, haggard and faint with excitement, but supported by the antic.i.p.ation of fresh attacks upon her husband, Ada immediately learnt what had happened. For the first moment she could hardly believe it. She rushed upstairs, and saw that the child was really gone; then a blind frenzy took hold upon her. Alarming and inexplicable sounds drew her sisters from below; they found her, armed with something heavy, smashing every breakable object in her bedroom--mirrors, toilet-ware, pictures, chimney-piece ornaments.

'She's gone mad!' shrieked f.a.n.n.y. 'She'll kill us!'

'That beast shall pay for it!' yelled Ada, with a frantic blow at the dressing-table.

Wanton destruction of property revolted all Beatrice's instincts.

Courageous enough, she sprang upon the wild animal, and flung her down.

Now indeed the last trace of veneer was gone, the last rag of pseudo-civilisation was rent off these young women; in physical conflict, vilifying each other like the female sp.a.w.n of Whitechapel, they revealed themselves as born--raw material which the mill of education is supposed to convert into middle-cla.s.s ladyhood. As a result of being held still by superior strength Ada fell into convulsions, foamed at the mouth, her eyes starting from their sockets; then she lay as one dead.

'You've killed her,' cried the terrified f.a.n.n.y.

'No fear. Give me some water to pitch over her.'

With a full jug from another bedroom, she drenched the prostrate figure.

When Ada came round she was powerless; even her rancorous lips could utter only a sound of moaning. The sisters stripped her stark naked on the floor, made a show of drying her with towels, and tumbled her into bed. Then Beatrice brewed a great jorum of hot whisky-punch, and after drinking freely to steady her shaken nerves, poured a pint or so down Mrs. Peachey's throat.

'There won't be a funeral just yet,' she remarked, with a laugh. 'Now we'll have supper; I feel hungry.'

They went to bed at something after midnight. The servants, having stolen a bottle of spirits from the cupboard, which Beatrice left open, both got drunk, and slept till morning upon the kitchen-floor.

On the morrow, Miss. French, attired as a walking advertis.e.m.e.nt of the South London Fashionable Dress Supply a.s.sociation, betook herself to Farringdon Street for an interview with her commercial friend. Crewe was absent, but one of three clerks, who occupied his largest room, informed her that it could not be very long before he returned, and being so familiar a figure here, she was permitted to wait in the agent's sanctum. When the door closed upon her, the three young men discussed her character with sprightly freedom. Beatrice, the while, splendidly indifferent to the remarks she could easily divine, made a rapid examination of loose papers lying on Crewe's desk, read several letters, opened several books, and found nothing that interested her until, on turning over a slip of paper with pencilled figures upon it, she discovered a hotel-bill, the heading: Royal Hotel, Falmouth. It was for a day and night's entertainment, the debtor 'Mr. Crewe,' the date less than a week gone by. This doc.u.ment she considered attentively, her brows knitted, her eyes wide. But a sound caused her to drop it upon the desk again. Another moment, and Crewe entered.

He looked keenly at her, and less good-humouredly than of wont. These persons never shook hands, and indeed dispensed, as a rule, with all forms of civility.

'What are you staring at?' asked Crewe bluffly.

'What are _you_ staring at?'

'Nothing, that I know.' He hung up his hat, and sat down. 'I've a note to write; wait a minute.'

The note written, and given to a clerk, Crewe seemed to recover equanimity. His visitor told him all that happened in De Crespigny Park, even to the crudest details, and they laughed together uproariously.

'I'm going to take a flat,' Beatrice then informed him. 'Just find me something convenient and moderate, will you? A bachelor's flat.'

'What about f.a.n.n.y?'

'She has something on; I don't know what it is. Talks about going to Brussels--with a friend.'

Crewe looked astonished.

'You ought to see after her. I know what the end 'll be. Brussels? I've heard of English girls going there, but they don't usually come back.'

'What can I do? I'm pretty certain that Damerel woman has a game on hand. She doesn't want f.a.n.n.y to marry her nephew--if Lord _is_ her nephew. She wants his money, that's my idea.'

'Mine, too,' remarked the other quietly. 'Look here, old chap, it's your duty to look after your little d.a.m.ned fool of a sister; I tell you that plainly. I shan't think well of you if you don't.'

Beatrice displayed eagerness to defend herself. She had done her best; f.a.n.n.y scorned all advice, and could not be held against her will.