My mother paid Mrs Fortisquince back and put the rest of the money into a reticule that our kind hostess had given her. Later that afternoon Mrs Fortisquince treated us to a celebratory meal of roasted fowl, saddle of lamb, and quince-tart, to mark the beginning of our new lives; but though I was permitted to drink a whole glass of burnt champagne, I could not expel from my mind my reservations about the transaction that had just taken place.
We were not surprised to hear nothing from Mr Steplight the next day, but the day after that we stayed in the front parlour to watch for his return and when he had not come by the late afternoon, we began to grow concerned. When, no message having arrived, I finally went to bed, I could not get to sleep for worrying about the vulnerability of our position now that we had surrendered the codicil. Yet surely it could not be a forgery, for that could be the only reason why the agreement could be repudiated? When I reflected that we had the letter from Sir Perceval, I felt reassured and eventually, though somewhat disturbed by my mother’s coughing, I drifted into sleep.
Suddenly I was wrenched from my slumbers by a loud hammering at the street-door.
“What can that be?” cried my mother.
We went out onto the landing and there we all — my mother, Mrs Fortisquince, the servant, and I — stared at each other in alarm. We descended to the street-door where Mrs Fortisquince called out to ask who was there.
“Sheriff’s officers,” came the reply.
My mother and I looked at each other in dismay at this while Mrs Fortisquince cautiously opened the door on its chain, looked round it and, apparently reassured as to the identity of the visiters, opened it wide. Three strange men in the familiar tri-corn hats and carrying silver staves came crowding into the hall, like a nightmarish repetition of the occasion when bailiffs had raided the house at Mrs Philliber’s.
“Which is Mrs Mellamphy?” one of them asked. He had a flat face like a well-worn penny.
“What do you want?” Mrs Fortisquince demanded.
“We are acting on a writ for non-payment of debt,” the man replied.
“The money has been paid!” my mother cried.
“You’re the party, are you?” he said, turning to her, and to my horror he laid his hand upon her arm.
“I have a quittance!” she cried.
“That is so,” said Mrs Fortisquince. “I paid the debt myself.”
The officer looked taken aback.
“Find my reticule, Johnnie,” my mother said.
I went into the dark parlour with a candle and found it lying on a table near the window. I took out the discharge and then something prompted me to remove the bundle of notes left in there and hide it inside my night-shirt. I went back into the crowded hall and handed the reticule to my mother who took out the paper and passed it to the bailiff.
He looked at it and laughed: “You’ve put the saddle on the wrong mare! This is a different one!” He consulted his documents: “I am acting in execution of a warrant for recovery of debt arising from the bankruptcy of the Consolidated Metropolitan Building Company.”
I turned to my mother and saw that her face had taken on a ghastly pallor.
“Mr Sancious,” she muttered.
She was right, for this was the name of the company involved in the building speculation which that gentleman had urged upon us and which had encompassed our ruin. I recalled his warning that as a shareholder my mother would be liable to a proportion of its debts once it had been established how far its liabilities exceeded its assets.
Something occurred to me: “How did you find us?” I asked the bailiff.
He turned to me with a look of amusement: “Never you mind that, young master. The question is: have you got the blunt?”
“How much is it?” my mother asked in a faint voice.
“Eight hundred pounds,” he answered after glancing at his papers.
“Oh my dear, I cannot help you!” exclaimed Mrs Fortisquince.
My mother staggered and would have fallen if the bailiff and I had not supported her.
“Come into the parlour,” said Mrs Fortisquince and while his deputies remained in the hall, my mother was assisted into that room by Mrs Fortisquince and the bailiff and helped to a sopha. The man then took up his position by the fire while the servant lighted candles.
He glanced round the room: “I am required to seize all personal possessions up to the approximate value of the debt if the monies are not paid in full.”
“I have nothing,” my mother muttered.
“I can confirm that,” Mrs Fortisquince said. “This lady is a guest in my house with her son. They came to me a few days ago and brought nothing with them.”
“I am afraid I must search your reticule,” the bailiff said and my mother meekly gave it to him. He opened it and counted the money it contained. “Three pounds and some shillings,” he announced. My mother looked up in surprise but I managed to catch her eye and nod slightly. “However,” the bailiff went on, “I have reason to believe that you have in your possession a sum amounting to upwards of seventy pounds. Where is it?”
How could he have known this? I wondered.
“I do not know,” said my mother.
The bailiff shook his head: “It will go hard for you, Mrs Mellamphy, if you try to conceal these monies.”
Mrs Fortisquince turned to me: “Johnnie, did you take it?”
I shook my head.
“You are making things worse for your mother,” she said.
Reluctantly, I brought out the notes.
“Very wise of you, young sir,” the bailiff commented. He carefully counted the money, wrote out a receipt for my mother, and put the notes away. “Now, ma’am, you must make ready to come with us.”
“Where?” my mother cried.
“To my house.”
“To your house! I don’t understand! What is it?”
“The spunging-house,” he said brutally.
“What will happen to me?”
“You will be held until the writ is returnable. That is, until you are brought before the court.”
My mother was crushed under this blow.
“I will come too,” I said.
“No, Johnnie,” she protested.
“I may come, may I not?” I asked the bailiff.
“Yes,” he said. “But then there’ll be two on you to pay for, that’s all.”
So it was settled. We were allowed a few minutes to dress and make ready, and were then put into a hackney-coach which had been waiting outside.
“Please help us,” my mother begged Mrs Fortisquince through the coach-window.
“My dear,” she replied from her door. “I promise to continue what I have begun. You will see.”
The coach moved off and we were driven through the dark and silent streets into a part of the metropolis that was wholly unfamiliar. In the occasional flashes of illumination as we passed a street-lamp, I could see that this sudden shock to my mother after the brief period of relief was a serious blow. She looked haggard, her eyes were dulled, and when we at last reached the bailiff’s house in Great-Earle-street, Soho, and were led inside, she seemed to be taking little notice of what was happening to her. When the bailiff’s wife had led us to a small, bare chamber which had bars on the windows, and had locked the door upon us, my mother gave way to a fit of weeping. She clung to me but as her tears ran down my cheeks and I muttered mechanical words of reassurance, I was trying to understand what was happening to us. How did the bailiff suddenly know where to find us after so long? And how did he know that we had a large sum of money? My suspicions of Mrs Fortisquince returned in force.
We passed what remained of the night in broken slumbers and awoke weary and oppressed. My mother learned from the bailiff that since that day was a Sunday, she was not to appear before the magistrate until the following morning. The man’s wife explained to us that our accommodation and board would be added to the debt already outstanding, and it may be imagined whether or not this sha
rpened our appetite for the wretched breakfast her servant laid before us. When, an hour later, we were told that we had a visiter and were escorted to the dreary little parlour, we expected Mrs Fortisquince, but to our surprise it was Mr Steplight who entered the chamber.
His self-possession was undimmed by the venue and he greeted us with the elaborate courtesy of the earlier occasion: “Dear lady, I am deeply grieved to find you under these melancholy circumstances. I have come from our mutual acquaintance, the inestimable Mrs Fortisquince, who told me of last night’s sad event.”
“Have you brought the rest of the money?” my mother asked anxiously. “To my profound regret, there remain certain formalities.”
“But the codicil has been accepted as genuine?” I asked.
“Certainly,” he said.
Reassured by this, we smiled bravely at each other.
“There are a number of preliminaries to be settled,” Mr Steplight went on. “First, Sir Perceval is very concerned about the safety of your son.”
I heard this with amazement, but after a moment’s thought I believed I understood why this should be so.
“He does not believe he is safe in London,” Mr Steplight continued. “He therefore desires that he be sent to school in the country.”
“Yes, that is exactly what I have already decided. We were going to take a house outside London, but because of this new warrant I may not have enough money.”
Mr Steplight smiled: “Set your mind at rest on that score, Mrs Mellamphy. Sir Perceval is prepared to pay for your son’s schooling over and above the money he owes you.”
“He is very kind!” my mother cried. “You see, Johnnie, I knew it would be all right in the end. Only imagine, you and I will be together and safe.”
“Not precisely, my dear lady,” Mr Steplight said smoothly. “Sir Perceval feels strongly that your son should board, and at a school in a secluded part of the country. Only thus can his safety be perfectly assured.”
“Board?” exclaimed my mother in dismay. “Where?”
“In consultation with myself he has already chosen a school which is in a suitable position to provide that necessary assurance of safety.”
He named a county far in the North.
“So distant!” my mother exclaimed.
“Far from those who wish him harm,” Mr Steplight parried.
“No,” my mother said decisively. “I won’t be separated from him. He may go to school near me.”
Mr Steplight shook his head sadly: “I am very sorry, but in that case I am not empowered to pay to you the balance of monies.”
“But it’s my money,” my mother protested. “He promised to pay me.”
“And he is perfectly willing to do so once these trifling conditions are met.”
My mother looked from one to the other of us in perplexity.
“Mamma,” I said, “why should I not go to this school? You could take a little house nearby and I could come to you for the week-ends and the holidays. Think of the alternative: you will go to prison.”
Seeing that she was in an anguish of uncertainty, the confidential agent pressed home the attack: “Your son is right. And if you were in prison, what would become of him, exposed as he would be to your enemies?”
“Yes,” she muttered.
“You know you may trust Sir Perceval to act in the best interests of your son, do you not?”
My mother shook her head as if in a daze: “I suppose so. I have been told so.”
“My dear lady, you hardly seem convinced. Do you not understand that the effect of the codicil is that Sir Perceval and his family only possess the estate as long as there is an heir to the original Huffam line?”
“That’s right, Mamma,” I cried. “Mr Pentecost and Mr Silverlight explained the law to me. The codicil means that you and I are the last of the entailed line to the fee simple, so that the Mompessons now only hold a base-fee to the property. If we were to die without leaving an heir, then title to the property would pass to the person named as heir in remainder — Silas Clothier.”
My mother shuddered but the lawyer looked at me in amazement. Then he smiled: “How remarkable. You are absolutely correct, young man.” He turned to my mother: “So you see, don’t you, that it is essential for Sir Perceval’s peace of mind that your son remain alive and in due course grow up to marry and provide future heirs to the entail?”
“Yes,” she said. “I suppose so.”
I turned to Mr Steplight: “But you must pay my mother the money still due to her.”
“How very astutely you do business, young sir,” he said, smiling benevolently at me. He turned to my mother and said: “I shall by all means give you eight hundred pounds immediately to clear this debt, and the balance when your son boards the coach. If you accept these terms, I have the monies with me.”
Though we were disappointed by this further prevarication, his conditions seemed reasonable and so we consented. He pulled out a bundle of bank-notes, counted them, and passed them to my mother.
“Now I suggest you send for the bailiff,” he said.
We did so, and I enjoyed his surprise and disappointment when my mother showed him that she had enough to pay off the debt.
“How long,” Mr Steplight asked him, “do you need before you can obtain a formal discharge and have the warrant respited?”
“If it weren’t Sunday,” he said, “I could do it by this afternoon. But it will be noon tomorrow at the earliest.”
“Very well,” Mr Steplight said. “Take the money now and give this lady a receipt. Add on your costs and fees due up to midday tomorrow. And don’t try any of your bailiff’s tricks with me, my friend. I’m too sharp a bird for that.”
“Why, I can see that, sir,” the man answered glibly; “and I’d be a fool to try it.”
The business was quickly done and when the man had gone Mr Steplight said: “Tomorrow noon will suit me very well. I will be back then with places booked for Master Mellamphy and myself on the three o’clock coach.”
“So soon!” my mother exclaimed.
“The sooner he is out of London the safer he will be,” Mr Steplight replied.
“But he has nothing, no linen or change of clothes or books or even a box.”
“Then he is taking all that he will need there,” Mr Steplight replied. “Of that I can assure you, Mrs Mellamphy.”
“You are going with me?” I asked him.
“Yes. Sir Perceval did me the honour to say that he would not confide this responsibility to anyone whom he trusted less than myself. Those were his exact words. You may see from this how very seriously he takes your son’s welfare, Mrs Mellamphy.”
“I will come too!” she cried.
I thought I saw a brief flicker of something like anger in the eyes of the baronet’s confidential agent.
“Though it would be charming to have the advantage of your company, dear lady,” he said smoothly; “it is a long and tiring journey. And an expensive one. Sir Perceval will pay your son’s fare but he has made no offer to pay yours.”
“Don’t come, Mamma,” I said. “You are still unwell and you need every penny of what you have left.”
“I am resolved on coming,” she said.
“Very well,” said Mr Steplight, smiling suddenly. “That is agreed and I will reserve three seats at the coach-office.”
He took leave of us a few minutes later and we were led back to our own room and locked in again. How much lighter our hearts were than when we had left there only an hour or so ago! Yet these sudden changes in our fortunes were bad for my mother’s health, it seemed to me, and for the rest of that evening I watched her with concern. As we discussed the future I noticed a kind of recklessness and excitement that I had not seen in her before.
We were up early the next morning and each hour dragged slowly by as we waited for the bailiff to bring the discharge. His wife agreed to send out one of the servants to purchase some articles that we would need for the journey a
nd a few that my mother was convinced I would require at the school and which she packed into a bundle. By the time our meagre luncheon was brought to us in the parlour and Mr Steplight was due within the hour, the bailiff had still not come. We were finishing the meal, which neither of us had much appetite for, when the bailiff knocked and came in. It was immediately apparent that he brought bad news.
“Do you have it?” my mother asked.
“I do not, ma’am,” he replied. “For when an investigation was made to see if you could be whitewashed — that is to say, a bill of indemnity be drawn in your name — it was found that there is another warrant out against you.”
“Another?” she gasped, staggering backwards.
He glanced down at a piece of paper in his hand: “A matter of a bill of five hundred pounds drawn by yourself some years ago and never paid.”
It was the one that Mr Sancious had persuaded her to sign in order to increase her investment in the company!
“That bill!” my mother cried. “But how has it come to light now? Who has it?”
The bailiff screwed up his features and squinted at the paper. “Someone has bought it up, but I can’t read the name,” he said, and held it out to my mother.
She looked at it, uttered a faint cry and would have fallen if I had not caught her and helped her to a chair.
Seizing the paper, the bailiff withdrew from the room.
I chafed her hand to revive her.
“What was the name?” I asked, but she merely shook her head.
“I’m lost, I’m lost,” was all she would say, though I begged her to tell me what the name was.
Though she was now resolved that my departure for the North should be postponed, I guessed that Mr Steplight would insist on adherence to the original design. And I was right for when he arrived a few minutes later and heard the news and my mother’s request, he was obdurate:
“Out of the question, Mrs Mellamphy. I must be back in Town by Thursday morning which would be impossible if we leave any later than early this afternoon. I am only empowered to pay you the balance when your son boards the coach in my custody.”