Severely as Ellis dreaded the hour of exhibition, a delay that, in its obvious consequences, could only render it more necessary, gave her no satisfaction.
A new subject for conjecture and reflexion speedily ensued: the visits of Miss Arbe, hitherto wearisome and oppressive, alike from their frequency and their selfishness, suddenly, and without any reason assigned, or any visible motive, ceased.
The relief which, in other circumstances, this defection might have given to her spirits, she was now incapable of enjoying; for though Miss Arbe rather abused than fulfilled the functions of a patroness, Ellis immediately experienced, that even the most superficial protection of a lady of fashion, could not, without danger, be withdrawn from the indigent and unsupported. Miss Matson began wondering, with a suspicious air, what was become of Miss Arbe; the young work-women, when Ellis passed them, spared even the civility of a little inclination of the head; and the maid of the house was sure to be engaged, on the very few occasions on which Ellis demanded her assistance.
Some days elapsed thus, in doubt and uneasiness, not even broken into by a summons to a rehearsal: another visit, then, from Mr Giles Arbe, explained the cause of this sudden desertion. He brought a manuscript air, which Miss Arbe desired that Ellis would copy, and, immediately, though unintentionally, divulged, that his cousin had met with the newly-arrived professor at Miss Brinville’s, and had instantly transferred to him the enthusiasm of her favour.
Ellis but too easily comprehended, that the ruin of her credit and consequence in private families, would follow the uselessness of her services to her patroness. The prosecution, therefore, of the concert-scheme, which she had so much disliked in its origin, became now her own desire, because her sole resource.
The next morning, while she was busy in copying the MS., the customary sound of the carriage and voice of Miss Arbe, struck her ears, and struck them, for the first time, with pleasure.
‘I have not,’ cried that lady, ‘a moment to stay; but I have something of the greatest importance to tell you, and you have not an instant to lose in getting yourself ready. What do you think? You are to sing, next week, at Mr Vinstreigle’s benefit!’
‘I, Madam!’
‘Yes! for you must know, my dear Miss Ellis, he has asked it of me himself! So you see what a compliment that is! I am quite charmed to bring you such news. So be sure to be ready with one of your very best scenas.’
She was then, with a lively air, decamping; but Ellis gently, yet positively, declined performing at any concert open to the public at large.
‘Pho, pho! don’t begin all those scruples again, pray! It must be so, I assure you. I’ll tell you how the matter stands. Our funds are not yet rich enough for beginning our own snug scrip-concert, without risk of being stopt short the first or second night. And that, you know, would raise the laugh against us all horridly. I mean against us Diletanti. So that, if we don’t hit upon some new measure, I am afraid we shall all go to town before the concert can open. And that, you know, would quite ruin you, poor Miss Ellis! which would really give me great concern. So I consulted with Sir Marmaduke Crawley; and he said that you ought, by all means, to sing once or twice in public, to make yourself known; for that would raise the subscription directly; especially as it would soon be spread that you are a protégée of mine. So, you see, we must either take this method, or give the thing quite up; which will be your utter destruction, I am sorry to say. So now decide quick, for there is not a second to spare.’
Ellis was alarmed, yet persisted in her negative.
Piqued and offended, Miss Arbe hurried away; declaring aloud, in passing through the shop, that people who were so determined to be their own enemies, might take care of themselves: that, for her part, she should do nothing more in the affair; and only wished that Miss Ellis might find better means for paying her debts, and procuring herself a handsome maintenance.
However shocked by this petulant indelicacy, Ellis saw not without the most serious concern, that the patronage of Miss Arbe was clearly at an end. Personal interest which, it was equally clear, had excited it, now ran in another channel; for if, by flattery or good offices, she could obtain gratis, the instructions of an eminent professor, what could she want with Ellis, whom she had never sought, nor known, nor considered, but as a musical preceptress? And yet, far from elevating as was such patronage, its extinction menaced the most dangerous effects.
With little or no ceremony, Miss Matson, the next morning, came into her room, and begged leave to enquire when their small account could be settled. And, while Ellis hesitated how to answer, added, that the reason of her desiring a reply as quickly as possible, was an interview that she had just had with the other creditors, the preceding evening; because she could not but let them know what had passed with Miss Arbe. ‘For, after what I heard the lady say, Miss Ellis, as she went through my shop, I thought it right to follow her, and ask what she meant; as it was entirely upon her account my giving you credit. And Miss Arbe replied to me, in so many words, “Miss Ellis can pay you All, if she pleases: she has the means in her own power: apply to her, therefore, in whatever way you think proper; for you may do her a great service by a little severity: but, for my part, remember, I take no further responsibility.” So upon this, I talked it all over with your other creditors; and we came to a determination to bring the matter to immediate issue.’
Seized with terror, Ellis now hastily took, from a locked drawer, the little packet of Harleigh, and, breaking the seal, was precipitately resolving to discharge every account directly; when other conflicting emotions, as quick as those which had excited, checked her first impulse; and, casting down, with a trembling hand, the packet, O let me think!—she internally cried;—surrounded with perils of every sort, let me think, at least, before I incur new dangers!
She then begged that Miss Matson would grant her a few minutes for deliberation.
Certainly, Miss Matson said; but, instead of leaving the room, took possession of the sofa, and began a long harangue upon her own hardships in trade; Ellis, neither answering nor listening.
Presently, the door opened, and Mr Giles Arbe, in his usually easy manner, made his appearance.
‘You are busy, you are busy, I see,’ he cried; ‘but don’t disturb yourselves. I’ll look for a book, and wait.’
Ellis, absorbed in painful ruminations, scarcely perceived him; and Miss Matson loquaciously addressed to him her discourse upon her own affairs; too much interested in the subject herself, to mark whether or not it interested others, till Mr Giles caught her attention, and awakened even that of Ellis, by saying aloud, though speaking to himself, ‘Why now here’s money enough!—Why should not all those poor people be paid?’
Ellis, turning round, saw then, that he had taken up Harleigh’s packet; of which he was examining the contents, and spreading, one by one, the notes upon a table.
She hastily ran to him, and, with an air extremely displeased, seized those which she could reach; and begged him instantly to deliver to her those which were still in his hand.
Her discomposed manner brought him to the recollection of what he was doing; and, making abundant apologies, ‘I protest,’ he cried, ‘I don’t know how it happened that I should meddle with your papers, for I meant only to take up a book! But I suppose it was because I could not find one.’
Ellis, in much confusion, re-folded the notes, and put them away.
‘I am quite ashamed to have done such a thing, I assure you,’ he continued, ‘though I am happy enough at the accident, too; for I thought you very poor, and I could hardly sleep, sometimes, for fretting about it. But I see, now, you are better off than I imagined; for there are ten of those ten pound bank-notes, if I have not miscounted; and your bills don’t amount to more than two or three of them.’
Ellis, utterly confounded, retreated to the window.
Miss Matson, who, with the widest stare, had looked first at the bank-notes, and next at the embarrassed Ellis, began now to offer the most obsequious excuses for her importunity; declaring that she should never have thought of so rudely hurrying such a young lady as Miss Ellis, but that the other creditors, who were really in but indifferent circumstances, were so much in want of their money, that she had not been able to quiet them.
And then, begging that Miss Ellis would take her own time, she went, courtesying, down stairs.
‘So you have got all this money, and would not own it?’ said Mr Giles, when she was gone. ‘That’s odd! very odd, I confess! I can’t well understand it; but I hope, my pretty lady, you won’t turn out a rogue? I beg you won’t do that; for it would vex me prodigiously.’
Ellis, dropping upon a chair, ejaculated, with a heavy sigh, ‘What step must I take!’
‘What?—why pay them all, to be sure! What do other people do, when they have got debts, and got money? I shall go and tell them to come to you directly, every one of them.’
Ellis, starting, supplicated his forbearance.
‘And why?—why?’ cried he, looking a little angry: ‘Do you really want to hide up all that money, and make those poor good people, who have served you at their own cost, believe that you have not gotten any?’
She assured him that the money was simply a deposit left in her hands.
This intelligence overset and disappointed him. He returned to his chair, and drawing it near the fire, gave himself up to considering what could be done; ejaculating from time to time, ‘That’s bad!—that’s very bad!—being really so poor is but melancholy!—I am sorry for her, poor pretty thing!—very sorry!—But still, taking up goods one can’t pay for?—Who has a right to do that?—How are trades-people to live by selling their wares gratis?—Will that feed their little ones?’
Then, turning to Ellis, who, in deep disturbance at these commentaries, had not spirits to speak; ‘But why,’ he cried, ‘since you have gotten this money, should not you pay these poor people with it, rather than let it lie dead by your side? for as to the money’s not being yours,—theirs is not yours, neither.’
‘Should I raise myself, Sir, in your good opinion, by contracting a new debt to pay an old one?’
‘If you contract it with a friend to pay a stranger, Yes.—And these notes, I suppose, of course, belong to a friend?’
‘Not to ... an enemy, certainly!—’ she answered, much embarrassed; ‘but is that a reason that I should betray a trust?’
‘What becomes of the trust of these poor people, then, that don’t know you, and that you don’t know? Don’t you betray that? Do you think that they would have let you take their goods, if they had not expected your payment?
‘Oh heaven, Mr Arbe!’ cried Ellis, ‘How you probe—perplex—entangle me!’
‘Don’t vex, don’t vex!’ said he, kindly, ‘for that will fret me prodigiously. Only, another time, when you are in want, borrow from the rich, and not from the poor; for they are in want themselves. This friend of yours is rich, I take for granted?’
‘I ... I believe so!’
‘Well, then, which is most equitable, to take openly from a rich friend, and say, “I thank you;” or to take, underhand, from a hardworking stranger, whom you scorn to own yourself obliged to, though you don’t scruple to harass and plunder? Which, I say, is most equitable?’
Ellis shuddered, hesitated, and then said, ‘The alternative, thus stated, admits of no contest! I must pay my debts—and extricate myself from the consequences as I can!’
‘Why then you are as good as you are pretty!’ cried he, delighted: ‘Very good, and very pretty, indeed! And so I thought you at first! And so I shall think you to the end!’
He then hurried away, to give her no time to retract; nodding and talking to himself in her praise, with abundant complacency; and saying, as he passed through the shop, ‘Miss Matson, you’ll be all of you paid to-morrow morning at farthest. So be sure bid all the good people come; for the lady is a person of great honour, as well as prettiness; and there’s money enough for every one of you,—and more, too.’
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