without waiting for an answer, exclaiming toNurse, quite heedless of Fanny's presence, "Mummy's come, and she looksas ill as anything, and so dreadfully--"
Nurse shook her head with a slight glance of warning, which Leilacaught, and by way of attracting her sister's attention, pinched herarm.
"_Leila_!" cried Chrissie in a fury, and the pinch would probably havebeen repaid with interest, had not Nurse interfered.
"Fanny, we shall not have butter enough. Please fetch some more," shesaid, and then, as the girl was leaving the room, she went on, in timefor her to hear, "of course, dears, your poor Mamma must be dreadfullytired. Travelling so far in such a few days and so much to see to;" andwhen they were alone she added, "Miss Chrissie, I do wish you could takethought a little. I don't know what you were going on to say, but Fannyis only a girl, and we don't want gossip downstairs about--" shehesitated.
Chrissie's curiosity made her take this reproof in good part.
"About _what_?" she asked eagerly. "You know something that we don't,and I don't think it's fair to have mysteries and secrets. We're quitebig enough to know too."
"Yes, especially if you scream things out for Fanny to hear," said Leilateasingly. "Why, Jap has more sense than that," and she glanced at thelittle boy, who was seated at the table, his tea and bread-and-butteruntouched, his face very grave indeed.
"You will understand everything very soon," said Nurse, feeling that thetime had come for her to try to make some impression on the children,and thus help their mother a little in her painful task. "Your Mamma isgoing to tell you herself, and I can only beg you, my poor dears, tothink of her before yourselves and to be of comfort to her."
There was no reply to this, beyond a murmur. Leila and Christabel feltoverawed and vaguely frightened and yet excited. They found itdifficult to swallow anything, but a sort of pride made them unwillingto show this, so the meal passed in unusual silence, Nurse's voicecoaxing Jasper to eat, being almost the only one heard.
Leila's imagination, filled with the quantities of stories she had read,was hard at work on all sorts of extraordinary things that might havehappened or were going to happen; Christabel was simply choking down alump that would keep rising in her throat, and trying not to cry, whileshe repeated to herself, "Any way, it can't be as bad as if Dads orMummy had been killed on the railway, or died like old Uncle Percy."
Roland generally came home about half-past five, but he had teadownstairs with his mother, or, if she were out or away, by himself, inhis father's study. It was less interrupting for him, as he usually hada good deal of work to do at home, than with the others in the nursery.So when a summons came for the little girls to go to Mrs Fortescue inher own room, they were not surprised to find their elder brotheralready there. His face, however, was not reassuring. Never had theyseen him so grave--Leila even fancied he looked white. He was sittingbeside his mother holding her hand.
She tried to smile cheerfully as Leila and Christabel came in,followed--very noiselessly--by Jasper, who had slipped out of thenursery behind them, being terribly afraid of being left out of thefamily conclave!
"Why, Jasper," exclaimed his mother, when she caught sight of him, "Ididn't send for you--"
"No, Mumsey, darlin'," he replied, "but I'se come," and he wriggledhimself on to a corner of her sofa, where he evidently meant to stay.The others could not help laughing at him, half nervously, I daresay,but still it somewhat broke the strain which they were all feeling.
"We're going to talk of very serious things, my boy," Mrs Fortescuesaid, persisting a little, "and you are only seven, you see. You couldscarcely understand. Don't you think you had better run upstairs again?Nurse will give you something to amuse you."
"No fank you. Please let me stay. I'm not so very little since mybirfday, and if you'll explain, I fink I'll understand."
By this time he had got hold of his mother's other hand and wassqueezing 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 betold you in a very few words. Till now you have been very happychildren--at least I hope so--perhaps I should say `fortunate,' for yourfather and I have made you our first thought and given you everythingyou wanted or could want. We were able to do this because we have hadplenty of money. And now, in the most terribly unexpected way,everything is changed. Our poor old uncle's death has brought a littledreamt-of state of things to light. He, and therefore we--for you knowDaddy is his heir--just as if he had been his son, and almost all ourmeans 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. Thensaid 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 isdead--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 wecould have been preparing for it."
Mrs Fortescue did not blame the boy for what he said, but she answeredquietly--
"Your father felt almost as you do, at first," she said, "till thingswere explained a little. It seems that poor uncle had no idea that thestate of his affairs was _desperate_, until the very last--it was theshock of a letter telling this that must have caused the stroke thatkilled him. Aunt Margaret found the letter in his hand, though he wasunconscious and never spoke afterwards."
"But still," Roland went on, though his tone was softer, "I can'tunderstand 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 aproductive one. It is a charming place as a home, but expensive to keepup. 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 tomake up for this and be able to go on giving us as much as we havealways had, he was foolish enough to try other things--to speculate, asit 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 theyear round and not have to pay for a house in London."
"Don't be silly," said Leila. "Hasn't Mummy just said that Fareham'sexpensive to keep up, and if we've no money!"
"Hush, dears," said their mother, "don't speak sharply to each other.Yes, there is Fareham, but that is what we have to depend on. It can'the sold, but it will probably--almost certainly--let well, furnished,just as it is, and that will give us a small income in addition to thevery little we have of our own. Your father is already seeing about it.And this house is almost certain to let very quickly. It is only oursfor another year legally. We will just keep enough furniture for asmall home, where Aunt Margaret will live with us, and sell all therest. And your father _may_ get some work; he has friends who know whathe can do."
"Will he have to leave off being an M.P.?" asked Leila very dolefully.
Mrs Fortescue only bent her head.
"And--" began Roland again, hesitatingly, "I don't want to be selfish,Mums, but I suppose I can't possibly go to Winton,"--the public schoolfor which he was preparing.
"Of course not," said Chrissie pertly: "most likely you'll have to be aboy in an office, or even an errand boy."
"_I_ could be a errand boy," cried Jasper, his face lighting up. "Orp'raps a messenger boy. There was one comed here the other day that wasalmost littler than me. And they have such nice coats and caps."
The others could not help laughing, and again it did them good, thoughJasper got rather red.
Mrs Fortescue took no notice of Christabel's uncalled-for speech.
"Dear Roland," she said, "your school is one of the things we are themost anxious about. If by any possibility it can be managed, it shallbe done. T
here are still fully six months before the date of yourgoing, and somehow--I can't help hoping for it."
Roland flushed a little.
"I--I feel as if it was selfish even to hope for it," he blurted out.
"No," his mother replied, "it is not. Your whole future may hang uponit. You have always done very well at school, and now with your tutor.You might get a scholarship at Winton and then College, which we havealways looked forward to for you, would be possible;" for Roland was aboy not