By this time he had got hold of his mother’s other hand and was squeezing it tightly. She had not the heart to send him away.
“What you really need to know, my own darlings,” she began at last, rather suddenly, as if otherwise she could scarcely have spoken, “can be told you in a very few words. Till now you have been very happy children—at least I hope so—perhaps I should say ‘fortunate,’ for your father and I have made you our first thought and given you everything you wanted or could want. We were able to do this because we have had plenty of money. And now, in the most terribly unexpected way, everything is changed. Our poor old uncle’s death has brought a little dreamt-of state of things to light. He, and therefore we—for you know Daddy is his heir—just as if he had been his son, and almost all our means came from him—he was on the brink of ruin. And we—we are ruined.”
The children’s faces grew pale, and for a moment no one spoke. Then said Roland, with a sort of angry indignation in his voice—
“Did he know it, Mother? If he did—I must say it, even though he is dead—if he did, it was a wicked shame to hide it. If Dads had known—Dads who is so clever—something could have been done, or at worst we could have been preparing for it.”
Mrs Fortescue did not blame the boy for what he said, but she answered quietly—
“Your father felt almost as you do, at first,” she said, “till things were explained a little. It seems that poor uncle had no idea that the state of his affairs was desperate, until the very last—it was the shock of a letter telling this that must have caused the stroke that killed him. Aunt Margaret found the letter in his hand, though he was unconscious and never spoke afterwards.”
“But still,” Roland went on, though his tone was softer, “I can’t understand it, for Fareham belonged to him and it must come to father, mustn’t it?”
“Yes, it is entailed. But it is not a very large property, nor a productive one. It is a charming place as a home, but expensive to keep up. Uncle’s large income was from other sources—not land-investments. Some of these must have begun to pay less for the last few years, and to make up for this and be able to go on giving us as much as we have always had, he was foolish enough to try other things—to speculate, as it is called. He must have lost a good deal of money a year or so ago, and since then it has all been getting worse and worse, and now—well; practically all is gone.”
“Still,” Roland went on, looking puzzled, “there’s Fareham.”
“Yes,” exclaimed Chrissie. “Why shouldn’t we go and live there all the year round and not have to pay for a house in London.”