It took her some time to settle down to her new life in Richmond. Lord Torrens, scarcely caring for the menage of a suburban residence, left after a few days, but the faithful Mrs. Lowther remained. Of callers there were none; for Patricia’s object in coming to live so far out was to avoid those who would have visited her in Grosvenor Square. She was in no mood for any kind of social pleasure, nor for the sympathy of kind but curious friends. So she kept her arrival a secret from those who would have been glad to know, and preferred to spend the greater part of her time in solitude.
But Montella had given her a task to perform. He wanted to know her version of the condition of English affairs; and in order to form an opinion, she was obliged to go out and about. So far as she could see, the assimilation process seemed, socially, to be working well enough. The names of Cohen, Jacobs, and Levy no longer existed; but those of Cowan, Jackson, and Leigh were on the increase, and perhaps sounded more euphonious in English ears. In spite of the exodus of the alien immigrants whose presence had been so greatly deplored, however, there were still a great number of the unemployed. Trade was bad—so bad that the prosperity of many families of the middle class was seriously threatened, and complaints were heard on all sides. Several well-known shops in the West End were shut up, and the bankruptcy of a celebrated mercantile house had ruined hundreds. Affairs on the Stock Exchange were quieter than ever they had been before, and finance, in the absence of two or three of the greatest Jewish capitalists, was at a low ebb. Moreover, people began to attribute the decline in commerce to the removal of Jewish influence by the Expulsion. Many said that the Jews who had gone to Palestine had taken the prosperity of England with them; many more heartily wished for their return. Certain it was that a wave of adversity had spread over the country; the nation seemed to be under a cloud.
“I have not come across many Jews so far,” she wrote, “although there must still be a great many here. I went on an exploration expedition to Canonbury and Highbury last week, and found most of the houses there to let. The shops there—or, rather, those that remain—seem to be undergoing a hard struggle, and I was told on inquiry that it was because their principal customers in the past had been those of the Jewish race. The synagogues have, of course, all been swept away; but, judging by statistics, there appears to be very little increase in the attendance at the various churches. The theatres also are not doing so well as of old, as a considerable amount of both talent and patronage has by the Expulsion been sent away. So the practical side of the Bill does not answer so well as it did in theory, and by the man in the street the Government is roundly blamed.”
She experienced a peculiar sense of gratification in having to give so unsatisfactory a report. Perhaps she thought it would comfort her husband to know that England missed the Jews, and was not flourishing so well without them; yet she knew that his love for his native country was such that he could not help feeling sincerely grieved.
She had just returned from her peregrination westwards one day, and was walking through the High Street on her way home, when she came face to face with a lady who was preparing to re-enter her carriage. Patricia, full of her own thoughts, would have passed on; but the lady, with an exclamation of surprise, barred the way.
“So I have found you at last, you truant!” she said, in a voice full of satisfaction.
It was Lady Chesterwood, the wife of Athelstan Moore.
Patricia looked up, half abashed, and held out her hand, scarcely knowing how to greet her old friend under the changed circumstances. But Mamie had heard the whole story of the Montellas’ separation from the Princess, and had the good grace not to refer to the affair. She insisted on taking the girl into a neighbouring tea-shop in order to have a chat, and gossiped away to her heart’s content. Then she suddenly remembered the purpose for which she had come out, and broke off in the middle of her conversation to ask Patricia’s advice.
“I meant to call and ask the doctor to come and look at Phyllis—Athelstan’s child, you know; but I have not made up my mind whether to do so or not,” she said, with an expression of doubt. “Athelstan slept in town last night, but I expect him home to dinner; and if he hears that the doctor has been, he will be so frightfully alarmed. He absolutely worships that girl; and if her little finger aches, he immediately makes up his mind that she is going to die. So I never send for the doctor unless it is really necessary; it doesn’t seem worth while to have a fuss for nothing.”
“What is the matter with her?” asked Patricia equably. “Nothing serious, I suppose?”