Chapter XVI: A Change of Circumstances

When her husband's affairs were all investigated and arranged, it was found, to Mrs. Stubbs's great joy, that matters were scarcely quite so bad as had at first been anticipated. True everything--or what she called everything--was gone; but no stain was there to sully a name which had always been held among City men as a blameless and honourable one.

The actual cause of the crash had been the failure of a large bank, which had ruined two important houses with which the firm of Stubbs & Co. had very large dealings; these houses were unable to pay their debts to Stubbs & Co.; and Stubbs & Co., having been living in great extravagance up to the last penny which could be squeezed out of the business, were not able to stand the strain of the unexpected losses.

But when everything was arranged, it was found that, with careful nursing and management, the business could be carried on for the benefit of the children until such time as the boys should be of an age to take the management of it themselves. Meanwhile, the trustees took Tom away from the expensive public school at which he was at the time of his father's death, and, instead of sending him to Oxford, as his father intended to have done a few months later, put him into the clerks' department of a large mercantile house, where they made him work--as Tom himself said indignantly--as if he were a mere under-clerk at a few shillings a week.

It happened that the trustees were both bachelors, who understood the management of a large and expensive household just about as well as they sympathised with the desire for social prominence. Therefore, they believed themselves to be doing a really generous and almost unheard-of action when they agreed to allow Mrs. Stubbs three hundred a year out of the proceeds of the business. "And the lad will have his pound a week," they said to one another, as a further proof of their consideration for their old friend's widow.

But to Mrs. Stubbs it seemed as if the future was all so black that she could not even see where she was to get food for herself and her children. Poor soul! she had forgotten what the old friends of her dead husband remembered only too well--the days when she had run up and down stairs after her mother's lodgers, of whom poor John Stubbs was one. On the whole, it is pretty certain that we rise much more easily than we fall. We find climbing up much easier than we find slipping down. And Mrs. Stubbs had got so used to spending twice three thousand a year, that to her a descent to three hundred seemed but very little better than the workhouse.

"A nice little 'ouse at Fulham!" she exclaimed, when Flossie tried to paint such a home in glowing colours. "You know I never could a-bear little 'ouses. Besides, 'ow am I to get them all into a nice little 'ouse? There's Sarah and me----"

"Oh, Sarah first, of course!" snapped Flossie.

"For shame, Flossie; you seem as if you don't know how to be mean enough to Sarah. I said 'er name first because she's my right 'and just now, and I lean on her for everything. There's Sarah and me, and Tom and Johnnie, and there's Minnie, and Janey, and Lily--that's seven. 'Ow am I to put seven of us away in what you call a nice little 'ouse?"

"Why, you'll have five bedrooms," Flossie cried.

"And where are the servants to go?" Mrs. Stubbs demanded. "Oh, I suppose I'm to do without a servant at all!"

"Well, I shouldn't think you'll want more than one," returned Flossie, who had six.

Mrs. Stubbs rocked herself to and fro in the depth of her misery and despair.

"And what's to become of me when Lily comes of age?" she cried.

For, by Mr. Stubbs's will, the business was to be carried on for the benefit of his children until the youngest should come of age, when the two boys were to have it as partners.

He had believed his wife and children were safely provided for out of his property, which had nothing to do with the business, of which Mrs. Stubbs was to take half absolutely, and the other half was to go equally among the children. Every penny of this had, however, been swallowed up by the losses which had in reality killed him; so that, though there was a provision for the children, Mrs. Stubbs was, except through the favour of the trustees, absolutely unprovided for.

"Oh, well, it's a good long time till then," Flossie returned coldly. "And really, Ma, I do think it's ungrateful of you to make such a fuss, when things might be so different. Just supposing, now, May and I weren't married; you might grumble then."

"I 'aven't as much," Mrs. Stubbs cried, "to bring up five children on as you and May each 'ave to dress on."

"Perhaps not; but then, we have to go into a great deal of society; and look what that costs," Flossie retorted. "Any way, Mr. Jones is too much disgusted at all this happening just now to let me help you. And as for my allowance, I have to pay my maid out of it, so I really don't see that you can expect me to do anything for you."

"I don't think Auntie wants you to do anything for her; I'm sure she doesn't expect it," put in Sarah, who was so utterly disgusted that she could keep silence no longer, though she had determined not to speak at all.

"Well, Sarah, I really can't see what occasion there is for you to put your word in," said Mrs. Jones, with an air of dignity. "We have heard a great deal about what you were going to do; perhaps now you will do it, and let us see whether the princess is going to turn out a real princess after all or not."

For a moment Sarah looked at her with such utter disdain in her grey eyes that the redoubtable Flossie fairly quailed beneath her gaze.

"I am going always to treat my dear aunt with the respect and love she deserves, Flossie," she said gravely; "and, even if I prove an utter failure in every other way, you might still take a lesson from me with great improvement to yourself."

"Oh, you think so, do you?" sneered Flossie.

"Yes, I do," said Sarah promptly.

"Then let me tell you, Miss Sarah Gray, that I think your tone and manner exceedingly impertinent and familiar. In future, call me Mrs. Jones, if you please, and try if you can remember to keep your place."

"Mrs. Jones, I will; and do you remember to keep yours," Sarah replied; "and do you remember, too, that you need not insult my aunt any further."

"I shall speak as I like to my own mother," Flossie cried furiously.

Sarah opened her eyes wide.

"If I do put you out of the house, Mrs. Jones," she said, speaking with ominous calmness, "I may be a little rough with you." And then the door opened, and May came languidly in.

"What _is_ the matter?" she cried. "Flossie, is that you--at it again? Do go away, please. I am not well. I came to have a little talk to Ma, and I can't bear quarrelling. Do go away, Flossie, I beg."

"That Sarah has insulted me," Flossie gasped--but May was remarkably unsympathetic.

"Oh, I've no doubt--a very good thing, too, for you've insulted her ever since you first saw her. Do go away. I'm sure I shall faint. I never could bear wrangling and fighting; and poor Pa's going off like that has upset me so--I just feel as if I could burst out crying if any one speaks to me."

On this, Flossie, finding that May was unmistakably preparing herself for a nice comfortable faint, went stormily away, and rolled off in her grand carriage, looking like a thunder-cloud. May recovered immediately.

"I really don't envy Flossie's husband the rest of his life," she remarked. "What a comfort she has gone away! Well, Ma, dear, I came in to have a quiet talk with you, and that tiresome girl has upset you. I would not take any notice if I were you, dear. I don't suppose Flossie means it. But she is so impetuous, and she's so jealous of Sarah. I'm sure I don't know what you ever did to upset her, Sarah; but you and I were always the best of friends."

"The best of friends, May," said Sarah; then bent down and kissed her cousin's soft ungloved hand. "I didn't mean to speak, not to say a word--but she was so unkind to poor Auntie--and, May, it is hard on Auntie after all this"--looking round the room--"and her beautiful carriages and horses, and her kind husband who was so fond of her, to have just three hundred a year to keep five children on. It is hard."

Poor Mrs. Stubbs broke down and began to sob instantly. "Sarah puts it all so beautifully," she said. "That's just as it was--your poor Pa--and----" but then she stopped, unable to go on, choked by her tears.

"Now, Ma, dear, don't," May entreated; "we don't know why everything is. It might have been worse, you know, dear; just think, if you'd had Flossie at home."

"Ah! it is a comfort to me to think Flossie is married," said Mrs. Stubbs, drying her eyes; "she's never been like a child to me."

"And there might have been nothing, you know; after all there is something, and you'll be able to keep them all together. I shall help you all I can, Ma, dear; you know I shall do that! And if I can't do much else, I can take you for drives, and see if I can't help Minnie to get married. You'll think it queer, Ma, dear, that I'm not just able to say 'I'll give you a cheque for a hundred now and then.' But I can't. Life isn't all roses for me either. Of course I have a grand house in Palace Gardens, and diamonds, and carriages, and all that; but Mr. Giath doesn't give me much money; he isn't like poor dear Pa. Of course he made a very big settlement--Pa insisted on that--but only at his death. I don't get it now, and he pays my dress bills himself; and," with a sob, "I don't find it all roses to be an old man's darling. But I don't want to trouble you with all that, Ma, dear; you've got enough troubles and worries of your own. But you'll understand just how it is, won't you, dear? And, of course, there'll be many little ways that I shall be able to help you."

"Well, I have got my troubles," said Mrs. Stubbs, drying her eyes, and looking at her daughter's pretty flushed face; "but others has them as well. You were always my right 'and, May, from the time you was a little girl in short petticoats; and you're more comfort to me now than all my other children put together, all of them. Flossie's been 'ere turning up her nose at her mother and insulting Sarah shameful; and Tom's grumbling all day long at what he calls his 'beggarly screw'; and saying it won't pay for 'is cigars and cabs and such-like; and Minnie's been crying all this morning because it's her birthday and nobody's remembered it; and, really, altogether I feel as if it wouldn't take much more to send me off my head altogether."

"But I did remember it," cried May; "I've brought her a birthday present, poor child."

"I'm sure it is good of you, May," poor Mrs. Stubbs cried. "Minnie 'll be a bit comforted now. You know it is 'ard on her, for we used to make so much of birthdays. But neither she nor the little ones ever seem to think of what they've 'ad--and no more I do myself for that matter--only of what they 'aven't got. 'Pon my word, there is but one in the 'ouse to-day who hasn' 'ad their grumble over something or other, and that's Sarah."

Sarah laughed as she patted her aunt's fat hand. "I've got something else to do just now, Auntie," she said bravely. "I've got to put my shoulder to the wheel now. I've been riding on the top of the wagon all along."