As for Lucy, she assured me with a rather unsteady laugh that when, as Mrs. Philip Dormer, she returned to Rochelle, nothing that could be offered would ever induce her to spend an afternoon there alone.
IV
IMITATION PEARLS
It was entirely owing to the death and defalcations of a trustee that my sister Linda and I—heiresses in a small way—awoke one morning to find ourselves penniless! We were orphans, and since our schooldays had made our home with a widowed aunt in the depth of the country, on the borders of an ancient village, within a parish whose extent was under a hundred acres. Aunt Sophy’s house, which enjoyed the flattering name of “Heart’s Delight,” was a little old manor, with shallow oak stairs, low ceilings and heavy beams, standing in the midst of rich meadows and stately trees, and immediately surrounded by a delicious garden, with mulberry trees, and a stew-pond.
Here we three lived in complete harmony. Aunt Sophy was fifty-four, my sister Linda, temporary housekeeper and manager, was twenty-four—she was engaged to Arthur Fortescue, a naval officer on the China station—whilst I was but twenty, rather pretty, incorrigibly cheerful, and entirely fancy free.
Mr. Benford, our guardian, who had been father’s best man—and was presumed to be our best friend—was a bland, somewhat portly, elderly gentleman, who, when we made rare visits to London, took us to the theatre, and to dine at smart restaurants, and even lent us his beautiful blue Panhard! He occupied luxurious bachelor quarters in the West End, and was generally supposed to be enviably rich. Recently he died rather suddenly—indeed, suicide had been suspected—and when his affairs came to be examined, three tragic facts were disclosed. For years, he had been involved in serious difficulties; his debts were enormous, and our twelve thousand pounds had long been dispersed in wild speculations—though he had paid us the interest punctually twice a year—and now both our guardian and our income had ceased to exist.
At first we felt stunned; and for many days Aunt Sophy remained sternly incredulous. Ultimately the truth was brought home to her by friends. Letters and visits of sympathy, offers of advice and help were not lacking. Linda, who was really the head of the house, promptly decided that one or both of us must turn out and work for our living, for Aunt Sophy’s means were limited (barely two hundred a year, besides “Heart’s Delight” and its contents).
The first and most essential move was to cut down expenses; the victoria and dogcart, the sleek horse, and sleeker cows, were sold, maids and gardener dismissed, and the establishment reduced to a mere general and boy. The old pony remained to take aunt out in the governess-car, but the meadows were let, and the family silver disposed of, as well as two much-prized Chippendale chairs.
Arthur Fortescue’s uncle, a wealthy admiral on the retired list (who invariably spoke of himself as a “sea-dog”), would not consent to Linda taking any situation—indeed, he was furious at the mere suggestion—but offered no alternative. However, a girl so capable and contriving was in the right place at home; she proposed a daring scheme—to make the garden pay, and also to undertake delicate needlework for one of the great outfitting shops in London.
Summer wore into autumn, yet still I, so to speak, “remained on hand.” I gardened, and sewed industriously, and did housework, hoping every day that Aunt Sophy’s anxious wish might be fulfilled, and that “something nice would turn up for Letty.” A post as companion to an amiable and wealthy old lady; or as governess to two dear little girls under ten, was what my friends desired. I spoke French fluently, and was a good pianist, but as so much more is expected in these days (Latin, German, Euclid, Mathematics, Gymnastics, Sketching), the value of my services was placed at the low figure of forty pounds per annum and washing; and yet in spite of this moderate assessment, no eager employer had claimed me!
The truth was, we were out of the beaten track—and Early Victorian in our ideas. Aunt Sophy had a horror of “seeing me in an advertisement,” as she expressed it. “It was always so much pleasanter and safer to try and hear of a nice opening through one’s friends.”