# Lady Anne Granard/Chapter 67

CHAPTER LXVII.
The communication thus given to Lady Anne took place during the absence of Mr. Palmer at Bath, a circumstance which added much to Helen's uneasiness, as she felt as if she were quite alone in the world, since she could not speak freely even to Louisa, who, again likely to be a mother, might be injured by any thing of a nature to alarm her. Something very terrible seemed impending over her—something which suspended even the claims of love in her gentle bosom.
Nor were her fears without foundation; for, one morning, when she had been in bed only between two and three hours, she was awakened by the cook, who, after many apologies and lamentations, assured her "that they had been told that there would be an execution in the house within an hour."
Helen jumped out of bed, and began to dress as quickly as she was able but what she was to do, ​in case the threat took place, or how it would act, she could not conceive.
Fanchette, in extreme alarm, asked innumerable questions as to the "vilain law of England," and received, of course, false and exaggerated accounts, in consequence of which she sent the page for a coach, and began to fetch down box after box with so much avidity, that cook took the liberty of peeping into several and handing them into the dining-room, observing, "it was quite as well for my ladies' fal-lals to pay her debts as be trotted off that way." Fanchette began to insist on their restoration, on which she was told, "that, if she attempted touching one of them, she would be immediately put in the hands of a policeman;" so she set out with amazing rapidity, exclaiming bitterly against the gensdarmes, whom she saw by chance at the moment. Meantime, poor Helen stood by her mother's bed-side, the image of despair, now looking at the pale invalid, who slept apparently in great comfort, and now on the writing-desk, which contained that money she so wanted, but must not, dared not take; the most terrible part of the affair being the declaration of the servant, "that an execution in a house was the most disgracefullest of all ​things, and would make his honour Glentworth go parfitly wild."
Feeling as if madness had actually seized her, and that somewhere she must go, to some one she must speak, Helen ran down stairs, and was just desiring the cook to go to Lady Anne, when the door was opened by the boy to three men, who entered with the ease prerogative bestows, and their chief addressed Helen, assuring her "that they wouldn't make no noise, for they knew as how the ould lady was in a criticising sitivation, and might pop off all of a suddent."
Helen rushed past them, flew across the street, where the servant was taking in the "Times," and, pursuing her way to the library, where Mrs. Palmer was sitting at the breakfast-table, flung herself on her knees beside her, crying only—"Help me! help me! Dear Mrs. Palmer, I have only you in the world!—pray help me!"
Both her sympathizing neighbour and all who heard her (for, though she saw none, there were several present) had no doubt at all but that Lady Anne had died when only poor Helen was near, and felt for her exceedingly, and Mrs. Palmer, stooping over her, said tenderly—
​ "It is a great trial, my love; particularly from your being alone; but try to conquer this emotion. I would rather see you cry, Helen. You know this affliction has been long expected by us all, my love."
"No, I didn't expect it, didn't believe it. How could I think the butcher would send in the execution men, when mamma is so ill? when I know there is money in her desk?—plenty of money."
"Oh! it is only money matters, after all. Don't frighten yourself, Helen."
The sound of Mr. Palmer's voice gave her sudden comfort; she sprang to her feet, turned towards the table, and met the earnest gaze of Lord Meersbrook. Shame, deep, distressing shame—a sense of her family respectability being blighted for ever, her faint hopes crushed, her heart broken, fell upon her; the room turned round—the pulses lately beating so violently suddenly stood still, and she fell with such utter lifelessness, that she might have been much hurt, if she had not been caught in the large folds of Mr. Palmer's dressing-gown, which broke her fall and left her head upon his slipper.
But his were not the hands that raised her with all a mother's tenderness, and gazed in mingled fear ​and admiration on that skin, whiter than the Parian marble, those chiselled features, beautiful in death. No! Helen was in Lord Meersbrook's arms, when Mrs. Palmer cried out, as she led the way—
"Bring her into this fresh, cold room; lay her on the sofa, but keep her head raised as high as you can. I wonder where my sal-volatile is. I must go to the medicine-chest—I must get something."
All activity, as all kindness, the good lady bustled about, and had soon the satisfaction of seeing Helen's eyes open, and she was not sorry to observe that they swam in tears, for she thought they might relieve her; but only a few drops rolled down her cheeks; nature found another refuge in the sleep she had been deprived of, and, as the most kind and encouraging words fell upon her ear and solaced her heart, she sank unresistingly into a state which appeared to be equally slumber and faintness.
The first moment she had observed symptoms of returning life, Mrs. Palmer had rushed to the library, and said, "She is better, she will soon be well; for God's sake stop the people over the way, for they are actually bringing the sideboard into the street!"
"I must have my coat and my shoes," said Mr. ​Palmer, lazily. "It seems to me a very extraordinary thing altogether, that a woman, who sacrificed all the comforts of life to 'keeping up appearances,' should allow such a contretemps as this to take place, when all her prospects are so bright, her honours in full bloom, and no other frost likely to befal them, save the chilling one of death."
"But, my dear sir, somebody must go and save the rigging; let me do it; if the law shows its claws, let me show my teeth, and you'll see which comes off best."
"Get along then, but remember 'poor Jack's no hand at a bargain;' send or bring the land-sharks to me for the money."
Doubting the prudence of the ambassador, when the coat was adjusted and the shoes tied, Mr. Palmer followed to the scene of action, astonished to find the van driving down the street, the porters sheering off, and the commander-in-chief seeing the sideboard nicely replaced, and insisting that the removed bookcase should be adjusted to a tittle, the creditor, standing near, with the look of a delinquent, and, what Helen called the executioner, appearing with smirking looks, because praised for "doing his bidding gently."
​ "Rather sharp work this, Mr. Cutlet. I suppose you are giving over business, and don't care how you part with your customers?" said the old gentleman.
"No, indeed, sir; these are no times for giving over, especially to a man with a large family; but, really, my Lady Anne Granard being such a bargainer to an ounce o' meat as I never met with, and who kep her family on less than one-half what other people consumes, ought to be made to pay, since she von't do it vithout. That there foreign gen'l'man vot paid her debts last summer, an' vent and sold his 'oss (as pretty a bit o' blood as ever I see), to oblige her, is gone avay, and she have shut herself up and purtends to be hill, so I adn't no other vay."
"Pretends!—she's dying. Here's a check for you, and send my bill immediately."
Many apologies were in course of being uttered, but the men, having finished their job and received some silver from Arthur, all went away together, leaving Mr. Palmer to turn over all he had heard respecting the poor Count, and what he had called Lady Anne's "devilries," which he determined to communicate to Mr. Glentworth immediately on his return.
​ As they were leaving the house, the poor boy told them, with a long face, "That ma'mselle had run away in a coach, and cook was frightened to stay alone with milady, and he hoped Miss Helen would come home."
"I don't wonder the poor wench is frightened; egad, she's afraid mam'selle's elopement may be followed by her lady's with a 'gentleman in black.' No wonder! for the creature that could practise on Riccardini, the most noble, simple, generous, self-denying of all human beings, could do any thing. Oh! here comes Dame Palmer. Well; how have you left Helen?"
"She still sleeps, and will do so till her usual time, between ten and eleven. Now is your time to go and choose Arthur's hat and other things, because at one he goes to the Admiralty. Pray take pains to choose it a becoming one; there is more in a hat than any other thing which belongs to a man's wardrobe."
Having seen them pursue their route, and satisfied herself that no sharp, loud knock at this early hour was likely to disturb Helen, Mrs. Palmer made her way to Lady Anne's room, and relieved the poor servant, equally to her satisfaction and that ​of her lady, to whom she had, with much more truth than prudence, related the events of the morning.
"A friend in need is a friend indeed," cried the invalid, who was a little fond of proverbs. "I am so glad to see you, for you are the only person who can tell me what is to be done in this distressing case."
"Make yourself easy, Lady Anne, for the present. Cutlet's bill is paid, and, when you are able to sit up, you can give Palmy the money; don’t hurry yourself about it."
"I do not intend; but I was alluding to Fanchette. I fear she has robbed me, and what can I do without her? I shall never be fit to be seen again."
"Never fear. You told me three days ago that you thought Helen managed you the better of the two."
"So she does; why is she not here now? it is four hours and a half since she went to bed; sleep enough for a young woman, in all conscience."
"And little enough, in all conscience; for the young require rest and food more than their elders. However, I must inform you, that Helen has had a bad fit in our house, and is now laid down——."
​ "A fit! a fit! There never was such a thing in my family before."
"My dear madam, you have fainted yourself repeatedly within a fortnight"
"Oh! she fainted, that was all. I can forgive that; it arose from being awoke in a fright; besides she's very subject to anxiety. When you have given her lunch, pray send her home, as I shall be miserable till I know what Fanchette has taken; if it only is to the amount of seven pound ten, I shall be nearly safe, for in another month I should have paid her a quarter's wages. I always paid her to the day, come what would."
"So!—that creature had thirty pounds a-year, and numerous presents and privileges, whilst those dear girls were wanting necessaries—but their days of distress are waxing short, that is a comfort," said the good neighbour to herself.