Chapter VI: The Denhams at Home

While the _Pelican of the North_ was making this disastrous voyage, troubles had fallen thick and plenty upon the Denhams at home.

With Ralph's departure Mrs. Denham had felt herself able to take a second lodger. Mr. Benson, head book-keeper in the firm of Messrs. Herford Brothers, for whom Captain Rogers sailed, had lodged with her for some years. He was a quiet retiring man, an old bachelor, who gave very little trouble, being regular in his habits, which were simple. He occupied the breakfast-room, in front of the house, downstairs, and a bedroom, also in front, at the top of the house.

There was a good-sized room in the front of the house, above the breakfast-room, originally meant for a drawing-room, and a bedroom behind it. Mrs. Denham had occupied the latter herself, hitherto, and made a nursery of the larger apartment. These she now proposed to let; she and all the children doubling up at night in two very moderate-sized bedrooms at the top of the house, and only retaining one parlour, the large dining-room on the groundfloor.

To make the new set of apartments sufficiently comfortable to accommodate a lodger, the best furniture from all her own part of the house was collected in them; they were repapered, repainted, and new carpets and curtains bought.

Captain Rogers had made his sister a present of money to assist her in these arrangements, but the greatest economy was necessary to make it cover these unavoidable expenses, and those of Ralph's outfit.

Jack and Reggie stained the floors brown; Agnes and her mother toiled over the upholstery and little adornments; all looked very nice when finished; but, beneath the surface, things were not comfortable. The family was too much cramped for room. A lodger was quickly found, but the work of the house was greatly increased; and the tempers of both Jack and Lisa were difficult, and caused much unpleasantness.

Mrs. Denham was glad that it was a lady who took the rooms, for she would not have liked either of her pretty daughters to help in waiting upon a gentleman except Mr. Benson, whom they knew so well; and, as her profits would not allow the keeping of a second servant, it was indispensable that they should do so.

She superintended the cooking herself, as the maid-of-all-work was but a cheap willing drudge, unequal to the preparation of any but the simplest dishes.

Mr. Benson only dined at home on Sundays, but supper was wanted for him, or chops with a late tea. The new inmate, Miss Mason, an elderly single lady, took all her meals in the house, dined in the middle of the day, and liked her food daintily served. It made heavy work, though comfort in the family household was sacrificed.

Agnes had a situation as daily governess. She went to her pupils after breakfast, dined with them, walked with them, and did not return till nearly five o'clock, except on Saturdays, when she came back earlier.

Lisa was at school. She was clever and ambitious, eager to pass examinations so as to rise in the world. She was fourteen, and her studies took up all her time.

Jack came next to her in age; but there was a gap in the family, where one had died between him and Reggie; and a wider one, where two had died between Reggie and little Cicely, who was but three years old. The baby was nearly two, a very delicate child, a great anxiety to his mother.

Agnes came in one evening in October. It had been a pouring wet day, and was already growing dark, for she had a long walk to and from her pupils' residence.

"My dear," said her mother, who sat by a mere handful of fire, with the baby whining on her lap,--"My dear, how wet you are! You will take cold."

"It is only outside wet, mother," said she brightly; "I will change my shoes and stockings, and soon be dry."

"I am so sorry to ask it, dear," continued Mrs. Denham, "but Mr. Benson has sent up an office boy to say that he is bringing a gentleman home with him, and could he have dinner at seven instead of tea. I had a dish of rissoles for him, which will not be enough, but there is nothing else in the house. Would you mind stepping as far as the shops, and bringing in something which we could get ready in time?"

"Oh no, I can run along very quickly, mamma. What shall I bring? A fowl to roast? That could be cooked best, I suppose; and a few sausages. Any vegetables?"

"Yes, please dear, and some coffee; he will like a cup of coffee after dinner. And some tinned soup; there is no time to make any, and Monday is such a bad day on which to get fish. Will you mind bringing it all back with you, for Maria is trying to finish the washing, and the shop-people are so tiresome about sending to this distance?"

"No, mamma, I'll bring it all home."

"And a little something for dessert, Agnes."

"Could you not open some of that ginger which uncle brought home? I'll bring some nice biscuits."

"A good thought, dear."

Agnes stepped along as quickly as she could, but these errands took her a long time. The nearest poulterer had no fowls left, and the next one lived quite a mile off. The omnibuses did not help her, because only a short part of her way lay along the main road; and her gown, which she thought safely pinned up beneath her cloak, came loose, hung down behind in a festoon, which held the rain and beat around her ankles at every step which she took. Contending with a heavy umbrella through blustering wind and driving rain, laden with a cumbersome basket, it was of no use to pick her way, or try to keep herself dry, so she splashed through all the mud and puddles, and returned home, drenched, cold and wretched.

Hurrying up to put herself into dry clothes, she found Lisa in their bedroom, with books and papers all round her.

"Oh, Agnes, don't put your wet gloves down there! That is my German paper, just written. How wet you are! Where have you been? I have wanted you so badly, just to hear me say these syntax rules. And do tell me what is the passive form of"--

"Don't keep me now, Lisa, I am in such a hurry. Mamma wants me. Could you not take baby for an hour? Mr. Benson has somebody coming to dinner, and nothing is ready. There is Miss Mason's tea to be got too, and Maria not dressed, and baby poorly. Mamma is driven every way at once."

"I can't take baby, I have heaps of lessons to do. I should lose my place if they are not done. How can you ask me, Agnes?"

"Well, I must run down, don't hinder me."

"You might just stop one minute to hear me these rules."

"I really can't, Lisa."

"Ill-natured thing," began Lisa fretfully, but Agnes could not stay to hear her.

Downstairs was chaos. The washtubs and wet clothes were everywhere; the two boys clamouring for their evening meal, and stumping about in their dirty boots; Miss Mason was ringing for coals; Mrs. Denham had sent Maria up to dress, and was trying to prepare the fowl with the baby in her lap.

"Jack," cried Agnes, "you might just take up some coals to Miss Mason, to help us."

"I'm not a footboy," said Jack ill-naturedly. "Where's Maria?"

"We are particularly busy; do help," pleaded Agnes.

"Help yourself," said Jack rudely.

"I am helping all I can," replied Agnes.

"Jack," said Mrs. Denham, "do what your sister asks."

Jack did not exactly disobey his mother, but flounced off to fetch the coal-scuttle as sulkily as he could, and filled it with a tremendous clatter.

"Here, Reggie, you lazy beggar, you can carry it up; you are doing nothing."

Reggie took up the scuttle, which, being too heavy for him, upset upon the stairs, all the coals falling down with an appalling noise and dreadful mess.

"I'm so sorry," said he, looking frightened.

"Butter fingers!" cried Jack contemptuously.

Agnes set herself to sweep the stairs and hall clean, drove the boys into the parlour and shut the door on them; then hurried to set Miss Mason's tea-tray, and send it up by Maria, who now appeared in her tidy apron and cap. Then she laid the cloth in Mr. Benson's room, and ran down to help her mother.

"My dear," exclaimed Mrs. Denham in dismay, "I forgot all about a pudding, and I don't know what we can do!"

"I brought some tarts in, mamma; and I thought we could toss up a sweet omelette while they are having their soup and meat."

"But eggs?" said Mrs. Denham in despair.

"I bought six pennyworth."

"What should I do without you, love?" sighed her mother.

By dint of great exertion the little dinner was cooked, and served to Mr. Benson's satisfaction. He, manlike, had not the slightest idea of the difficulties which had beset his obliging landlady; or that, though the hunger of Lisa and the boys had been assuaged with thick bread and butter in the intervals of work, Mrs. Denham and Agnes had not been able to spare time for food, and were sinking for want of it at nine o'clock.

"You must have a nice cup of coffee now, mamma," said Agnes. "I made enough when I sent it up to the gentlemen. And here is a bit of fowl which I slipped into the oven to keep hot."

"You must take some too, Agnes."

"I'll have mine when I come down. Cicely has never been put to bed, she is asleep on the parlour floor."

She set her mother down by the kitchen fire to take her supper, and carried off the baby, now asleep, as well as the little girl.

Coming down from putting them to bed, she remembered that Miss Mason's tea-tray had never been removed, and stepped in to take it down.

"I am so sorry," said she, "that you should have been neglected, Miss Mason. Mr. Benson has company, and gave us very short notice of what he wanted, so we have been rather busy."

"My dear," said the kind-hearted Miss Mason, "you look fit to drop."

"I'm rather tired," said Agnes; "but I am going to have some supper now."

But before she sat down to it a telegram from the office was brought in.

"Something's wrong, miss," said Maria, seeking Agnes. "Mr. Benson, he guv' a sort of a screech when he read it,--nasty thing,--and he says, says he, 'Send Miss Denham to me,' says he. I can't think why folks ever go sending them ugly yellow telegrams about, frightening people."

Agnes did not listen to this tirade, she never imagined that a telegram for Mr. Benson could affect her. Strangely enough she did not think of Ralph, she was so tired, and her evening had been so full of pressing trivialities.

But upon her entering Mr. Benson's room, that gentleman came towards her, telegram in hand, looking so full of sorrowful compassion that a cold thrill ran through her at once.

"What is it, sir?" she faltered.

"My dear young lady, there is some very sad news come. I want you to help me in breaking it to your poor mother. I am deeply grieved to tell you that the _Pelican of the North_ has been burnt at sea."

"Oh, Mr. Benson! And Ralph?"

Her white lips could hardly utter the words.

"The crew and passengers left her safely, but the boat in which Ralph was is missing."

Agnes swayed, turned deathly sick, felt as if she were going blind, caught hold of the nearest support, missed it, and sank upon the floor insensible.

Neither Mr. Benson nor his friend had ever seen a girl faint before, and were terribly frightened. They tore the bell down in their agitation; they called for help in tones which brought everyone around them in consternation; nobody had their wits at command except Miss Mason.

"Go downstairs, Lisa," she commanded. "Take away the boys. Maria, go downstairs; Miss Denham has only fainted, her mother and I are enough to help her."

She assisted Mrs. Denham to lay the poor girl flat, to loosen her dress and sprinkle her face with water, as she spoke. She fetched salts; and when consciousness returned, she directed the gentlemen to carry her up to her own bed.

None of them, for the moment, thought of asking what had caused the swoon. Mrs. Denham naturally considered it the result of over-exertion, and the wetting which Agnes had undergone; she was much concerned, but not alarmed.

Miss Mason, not knowing of these predisposing causes, and seeing the telegram in Mr. Benson's hand, guessed more. She was also much struck with the lack of comfort in the scantily-furnished bedroom, crowded with two beds, and littered with Lisa's books in every direction.

Leaving her mother to undress Agnes, she went downstairs with the gentlemen, and, entering Mr. Benson's parlour, she closed the door and asked--

"What caused this sudden faintness, Mr. Benson? Had that telegram anything to do with it?"

"Indeed, I am sorry to say that it had, ma'am," and Mr. Benson handed it to the old lady.

"Humph!" said she. "If you had any sense you would have sent for me, not that poor girl."

"I'm awfully sorry," stammered out Mr. Benson, while his friend could hardly repress a smile at witnessing the autocrat of "Herford Brothers," before whom twenty clerks trembled when he frowned, being scolded and scorned by a neat little woman in a shabby silk gown and white curls.

There was wine on the table.

"Before you half kill the mother, as well as the daughter, you had better bring her down here and give her a glass of that sherry if it is decent wine," proceeded Miss Mason.

"It is, ma'am,--it is very fair sherry," said the crestfallen Mr. Benson. "You don't think that she will faint too, do you?"

Miss Mason's only answer was, "I will fetch her myself," and she walked off.

Mrs. Denham did not faint, but it was a most distressing scene, and Miss Mason took command of the whole family.