CHAPTER II.
Allen came punctually in the evening to settle his accounts. When he and Leonard were by themselves, he could not help expressing some astonishment, mixed with indignation, at the hints which had been thrown out by Mrs. Ludgate.
“Why, she knows nothing of the matter,” said Ludgate. “I’ve no notion of talking of such things to one’s wife; it would only make her uneasy; and we shall be able to go on some way or other. So let us have another bottle of wine, and talk no more of business for this night.”
Allen would by no means consent to put off the settlement of accounts, after what had passed. “Short accounts,” said he, “as Mrs. Ludgate observed, make long friends.”
It appeared, when the statement of affairs was completed, that Allen had advanced above three hundred pounds for Leonard; and bills to a large amount still remained unpaid.
Now it happened that Jack, the footboy, contrived to go in and out of the room several times, whilst Mr. Ludgate and Allen were talking; and he, finding it more for his interest to serve his master’s tradesmen than his master, sent immediate notice to all whom it might concern, that Mr. Ludgate’s affairs were in a bad way, and that now or never must be the word with his creditors. The next morning bills came showering in upon Leonard whilst he was at breakfast, and amongst them came sundry bills of Mrs. Ludgate’s. They could not possibly have come at a more inauspicious moment. People bespeak goods with one species of enthusiasm, and look over their bills with another. We should rather have said people spend with one enthusiasm, and pay with another; but this observation would not apply to our present purpose, for Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate had never yet experienced the pleasure or the pain of paying their debts; they had hitherto been faithful to their maxim of “Spend to-day, and pay to-morrow.”
They agreed well in the beginning of their career of extravagance; but the very similarity of their tastes and habits proved ultimately the cause of the most violent quarrels. As they both were expensive, selfish, and self-willed, neither would, from regard to the other, forbear. Comparisons between their different degrees of extravagance commenced; and, once begun, they never ended. It was impossible to settle, to the satisfaction of either party, which of them was most to blame. Recrimination and reproaches were hourly and daily repeated; and the lady usually ended by bursting into tears, and the gentleman by taking his hat and walking out of the house.
In the meantime, the bills must be paid. Mr. Ludgate was obliged to sell the whole of his interest in the shop in Cranbourne-alley; and the ready money he received from Allen was to clear him from all difficulties. Allen came to pay him this sum. “Do not think me impertinent, Mr. Ludgate,” said he, “but I cannot for the soul of me help fearing for you. What will you do, when this money is gone? and go it must, at the rate you live, in a very short time.”
“You are very good, sir,” replied Leonard, coldly, “to interest yourself so much in my concerns; but I shall live at what rate I please. Every man is the best judge of his own affairs.”
After this repulse Allen could interfere no further. But when two months had elapsed from the date of Mrs. Ludgate’s promised payment of the upholsterer’s bill, Lucy resolved to call again upon Mrs. Ludgate. Lucy had now a particular occasion for the money: she was going to be married to Allen, and she wished to put into her husband’s hands the little fortune which she had so hardly earned by her own industry. From the time that Allen heard her conversation, when Belle came to view the house in Cranbourne-alley, he had been of opinion that she would make an excellent wife: and the circumstances which sunk Lucy below Mrs. Ludgate’s notice raised her in the esteem and affection of this prudent and sensible young man. He did not despise—he admired her for going into a creditable business, to make herself independent, instead of living as an humble companion with Mrs. Ludgate, of whose conduct and character she could not approve.
When Lucy called again upon Mrs. Ludgate to remind her of her promise, she was received with evident confusion. She was employed in directing Mr. Green, a builder, to throw out a bow in her dining-room, and to add a balcony to the windows; for Mrs. Pimlico had a bow and a balcony, and how could Mrs. Ludgate live without them?
“Surely, my dear Mrs. Ludgate,” said Lucy, drawing her aside, so that the man who was measuring the windows could not hear what she said, “surely you will think of paying Mr. Beech’s bill, as you promised, before you go into any new expense?”
“Hush! hush! don’t speak so loud. Leonard is in the next room; and I would not have him hear any thing of Beech’s bill, just when the man’s here about the balcony, for any thing in the world!”
Lucy, though she was good-natured, was not so weak as to yield to airs and capricious extravagance; and Mrs. Ludgate at last, though with a bad grace, paid her the money which she had intended to lay out in a very different manner. But no sooner had she paid this debt than she considered how she could prevail upon Mr. Green to throw out the bow, and finish the balcony, without paying him for certain alterations he had made in the house in Cranbourne-alley, for which he had never yet received one farthing. It was rather a difficult business, for Mr. Green was a sturdy man, and used to regular payments. He resisted all persuasion, and Mrs. Ludgate was forced again to have recourse to Lucy.
“Do, my dear girl,” said she, “lend me only twenty guineas for this positive man; else, you see, I cannot have my balcony.” This did not appear to Lucy the greatest of all misfortunes. “But is it not much more disagreeable to be always in debt and danger, than to live in a room without a balcony?” said Lucy.
“Why it is disagreeable, certainly, to be in debt, because of being dunned continually; but the reason I’m so anxious about the balcony, is that Mrs. Pimlico has one, and that’s the only thing in which her house is better than mine. Look just over the way: do you see Mrs. Pimlico’s beautiful balcony?”
Mrs. Ludgate who had thrust her head far out of the window, pulling Lucy along with her, now suddenly drew back, exclaiming, “Lord, if here is not that odious woman; I hope Jack won’t let her in.”—She shut the window hastily, ran to the top of the stairs, and called out, “Jack! I say, Jack; don’t let nurse in for your life.”
“Not if she has the child with her, ma’am?” said Jack.
“No, no, I say!”
“Then that’s a sin and a shame,” muttered Jack, “to shut the door upon your own child.”
Mrs. Ludgate did not hear this reflection, because she had gone back to the man who was waiting for directions about the balcony; but Lucy heard it distinctly. “Ma’am, nurse would come in, for she says she saw you at the window; and here she is, coming up the stairs,” cried the footboy.
The nurse came in, with Mrs. Ludgate’s child in her arms.
“Indeed, madam,” said she, “the truth of the matter is, I can’t and won’t be denied my own any longer: and it is not for my own sake I speak up so bold, but for the dear babe that I have here in my arms, that can’t speak for itself, but only smile in your face, and stretch out its arms to you. I, that am only its nurse, can’t bear it; but I have little ones of my own, and can’t see them want. I can’t do for them all: if I’m not paid my lawful due, how can I? And is it not fit I should think of my own flesh and blood first? So I must give up this one. I must!—I must!”—cried the nurse, kissing the child repeatedly, “I must leave her to her mother.”
The poor woman laid the child down on the sofa, then turned her back upon it, and, hiding her face in her apron, sobbed as if her heart would break. Lucy was touched with compassion; the mother stood abashed; shame struggled for a few instants with pride; pride got the victory. “The woman’s out of her wits, I believe,” cried Mrs. Ludgate. “Mr. Green, if you’ll please to call again to-morrow, we’ll talk about the balcony. Lucy, give me the child, and don’t you fall a crying without knowing why or wherefore. Nurse, I’m surprised at you! Did not I tell you I’d send you your money next week?”
“Oh! yes, madam; but you have said so this many a week; and things are come to such a pass now, that husband says I shall not bring back the child without the money.”
“What can I do?” said Mrs. Ludgate.
Lucy immediately took her purse out of her pocket, and whispered, “I will lend you whatever you want to pay the nurse, upon condition that you will give up the scheme of the balcony.”
Mrs. Ludgate submitted to this condition; but she was not half so much obliged to Lucy for doing her this real service as she would have been if her friend had assisted in gratifying her vanity and extravagance. Lucy saw what passed in Mrs. Ludgate’s mind, and nothing but the sense of the obligations she lay under to Belle’s mother could have prevented her from breaking off all connexion with her.
But Mrs. Ludgate was now much inclined to court Lucy’s acquaintance, as her approaching marriage with Mr. Allen, who was in good circumstances, made her appear quite a different person. Mrs. Allen would be able, and she hoped willing, to assist her from time to time with money. With this view, Belle showed Lucy a degree of attention and civility which she had disdained to bestow upon her friend whilst she was in an inferior situation. It was in vain, however, that this would-be fine lady endeavoured to draw the prudent Lucy out of her own sphere of life: though Lucy was extremely pretty, she had no desire to be admired; she was perfectly satisfied and happy at home, and she and her husband lived according to old Ludgate’s excellent maxim, “Out of debt out of danger.”
We shall not weary our readers with the history of all the petty difficulties into which Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate’s foolish extravagance led them. The life of the shabby genteel is most miserable. Servants’ wages unpaid, duns continually besieging the door, perpetual excuses, falsehoods to be invented, melancholy at home, and forced gaiety abroad! Who would live such a life? Yet all this Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate endured, for the sake of outshining Mr. and Mrs. Pimlico.
It happened that one night, at a party, Mrs. Ludgate caught a violent cold, and her face became inflamed and disfigured by red spots. Being to go to a ball in a few days, she was very impatient to get rid of the eruption; and in this exigency she applied to Mr. Pimlico, the perfumer, who had often supplied her with cosmetics, and who now recommended a beautifying lotion. This quickly cleared her complexion; but she soon felt the effects of her imprudence: she was taken dangerously ill, and the physician who was consulted attributed her disease entirely to the preparation she had applied to her face. Whilst she was ill, an execution was brought against Mr. Ludgate’s goods. Threatened with a jail, and incapable of taking any vigorous measures to avoid distress, he went to consult his friend, Tom Lewis. How this Mr. Lewis lived was matter of astonishment to all his acquaintance: he had neither estate, business, or any obvious means of supporting the expense in which he indulged.
“What a happy dog you are, Lewis!” said our hero: “how is it that you live better than I do?”
“You might live as well as I, if you were inclined,” said Lewis.
Our hero was all curiosity; and Lewis exacted from him an oath of secrecy. A long pause ensued.
“Have you the courage,” said Lewis, “to extricate yourself from all your difficulties at once?”
“To be sure I have; since I must either go to jail this night, or raise two hundred guineas for these cursed fellows!”
“You shall have it in half an hour,” said Lewis, “if you will follow my advice.”
“Tell me at once what I am to do, and I will do it,” cried Leonard. “I will do any thing to save myself from disgrace, and from a jail.”
Lewis, who now perceived his friend was worked up to the pitch he wanted, revealed the whole mystery. He was connected with a set of gentlemen, ingenious in the arts of forgery, from whom he purchased counterfeit bank-notes at a very cheap rate. The difficulty and risk of passing them was extreme; therefore the confederates were anxious to throw this part of the business off their hands. Struck with horror at the idea of becoming an accomplice in such a scheme of villany, Leonard stood pale and silent, incapable of even thinking distinctly. Lewis was sorry that he had opened his mind so fully. “Remember your oath of secrecy!” said he.
“I do,” replied Ludgate.
“And remember that you must become one of us before night, or go to jail.”
Ludgate said he would take an hour to consider of the business, and here they parted; Lewis promising to call at his house before evening, to learn his final decision.
“And am I come to this?” thought the wretched man. “Would to Heaven I had followed my poor father’s maxim! but it is now too late.”
Mr. Ludgate, when he arrived at home, shut himself up in his own room, and continued walking backwards and forwards, for nearly an hour, in a state of mind more dreadful than can be described. Whilst he was in this situation, some one knocked at the door. He thought it was Lewis, and trembled from head to foot. It was only a servant with a parcel of bills, which several tradesmen, hearing that an execution was in the house, had hastened to present for payment. Among them were those of Mr. Beech, the upholsterer, and Mrs. Ludgate’s milliner and mantua-maker, which having been let to run on for above two years and a half, now amounted to a sum that astonished and shocked Mr. Ludgate. He could not remonstrate with his wife, or even vent his anger in reproaches, for she was lying senseless in her bed.
Before he had recovered from this shock, and whilst the tradesmen who brought the bills were still waiting for their money, Lewis and one of his companions arrived. He came to the point immediately. He produced bank-notes sufficient to discharge all his debts, and proposed to lend him this money on condition that he would enter into the confederacy as he had proposed. “All that we ask of you is to pass a certain number of notes for us every week. You will find this to your advantage; for we will allow you a considerable percentage, besides freeing you from your present embarrassments.”
The sight of the bank-notes, the pressure of immediate distress, and the hopes of being able to support the style of life in which he had of late appeared, all conspired to tempt Ludgate. When he had, early in life, vaunted to his young companions that he despised his father’s old maxim, while he repeated his own, they applauded his spirit. They were not present, at this instant, to pity the wretched state into which that spirit had betrayed him. But our hero has yet much greater misery to endure. It is true his debts were now paid, and he was able to support an external appearance of affluence; but not one day, not one night, could he pass without suffering the horrors of a guilty conscience, and all the terrors which haunt the man who sees himself in hourly danger of detection. He determined to keep his secret cautiously from his wife: he was glad that she was confined to her bed at this time, lest her prying curiosity should discover what was going forward. The species of affection which he had once felt for her had not survived the first six months of their marriage; and their late disputes had rendered this husband and wife absolutely odious to each other. Each believed, and indeed pretty plainly asserted, that they could live more handsomely asunder: but, alas! they were united for better and for worse.
Mrs. Ludgate’s illness terminated in another eruption on her face. She was extremely mortified by the loss of her beauty, especially as Mrs. Pimlico frequently contrasted her face with that of Mrs. Paget, who was now acknowledged to be the handsomest woman of Mrs. Pimlico’s acquaintance. She endeavoured to make herself of consequence by fresh expense. Mr. Ludgate, to account for the sudden payment of his debts, and the affluence in which he now appeared to live, spread a report of his having had a considerable legacy left to him by a relation, who had died in a distant part of England. The truth of the report was not questioned; and for some time Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate were the envy of their acquaintance. How little the world, as it is called, can judge, by external appearances, of the happiness of those who excite admiration or envy!
“What lucky people the Ludgates are!” cried Mrs. Pimlico. The exclamation was echoed by a crowded card party, assembled at her house. “But then,” continued Mrs. Pimlico, “it is a pity poor Belle is so disfigured by that scurvy, or whatever it is, in her face. I remember the time when she was as pretty a woman as you could see: nay, would you believe it, she had once as fine a complexion as young Mrs. Paget!”
These observations circulated quickly, and did not escape Mrs. Ludgate’s ear. Her vanity was deeply wounded; and her health appeared to her but a secondary consideration, in comparison with the chance of recovering her lost complexion. Mr. Pimlico, who was an eloquent perfumer, persuaded her that her former illness had nothing to do with the beautifying lotion she had purchased at his shop; and to support his assertions, he quoted examples of innumerable ladies, of high rank and fashion, who were in the constant habit of using this admirable preparation. The vain and foolish woman, notwithstanding the warnings which she had received from the physician who attended her during her illness, listened to the oratory of the perfumer, and bought half a dozen bottles of another kind of beautifying lotion. The eruption vanished from her face, after she had used the cosmetic; and, as she did not feel any immediate bad effects upon her health, she persisted in the practice for some months. The consequence was at last dreadful. She was found one morning speechless in her bed, with one side of her face distorted and motionless. During the night, she had been seized with a paralytic stroke: in a few days she recovered her speech; but her face continued totally disfigured.
This was the severest punishment that could have been inflicted on a woman of her character. She was now ashamed to show herself abroad, and incapable of being contented at home. She had not the friendship of a husband, or the affection of children, to afford her consolation and support. Her eldest child was a boy of about five years old, her youngest four. They were as fretful and troublesome as children usually are, whose education has been totally neglected; and the quarrels between them and Jack the footboy were endless, for Jack was alternately their tutor and their playfellow.
Beside the disorder created in this family by mischievous children, the servants were daily plagues. Nothing was ever done by them well or regularly; and though the master and mistress scolded without mercy, and perpetually threatened to turn Jack or Sukey away, yet no reformation in their manners was produced; for Jack and Sukey’s wages were not paid, and they felt that they had the power in their own hands; so that they were rather the tyrants than the servants of the house.