The Way We Live Now - 26

perceived that Montague had made a little struggle and had been
cowed; and he knew how hard it is for one man to persevere against
five or six, and for a young man to persevere against his elders.
Nidderdale was filliping bits of paper across the table at Carbury.
Miles Grendall was poring over the book which was in his charge.
Lord Alfred sat back in his chair, the picture of a model director,
with his right hand within his waistcoat. He looked aristocratic,
respectable, and almost commercial. In that room he never by any
chance opened his mouth, except when called on to say that Mr.
Melmotte was right, and was considered by the chairman really to
earn his money. Melmotte for a minute or two went on conversing with
Cohenlupe, having perceived that Montague for the moment was cowed.
Then Paul put both his hands upon the table, intending to rise and
ask some perplexing question. Melmotte saw this also and was upon
his legs before Montague had risen from his chair. "Gentlemen," said
Mr. Melmotte, "it may perhaps be as well if I take this occasion of
saying a few words to you about the affairs of the company." Then,
instead of going on with his statement, he sat down again, and began
to turn over sundry voluminous papers very slowly, whispering a word
or two every now and then to Mr. Cohenlupe. Lord Alfred never changed
his posture and never took his hand from his breast. Nidderdale and
Carbury filliped their paper pellets backwards and forwards. Montague
sat profoundly listening,--or ready to listen when anything should
be said. As the chairman had risen from his chair to commence his
statement, Paul felt that he was bound to be silent. When a speaker
is in possession of the floor, he is in possession even though he be
somewhat dilatory in looking to his references, and whispering to
his neighbour. And, when that speaker is a chairman, of course some
additional latitude must be allowed to him. Montague understood this,
and sat silent. It seemed that Melmotte had much to say to Cohenlupe,
and Cohenlupe much to say to Melmotte. Since Cohenlupe had sat at the
Board he had never before developed such powers of conversation.

Nidderdale didn't quite understand it. He had been there twenty
minutes, was tired of his present amusement, having been unable to
hit Carbury on the nose, and suddenly remembered that the Beargarden
would now be open. He was no respecter of persons, and had got over
any little feeling of awe with which the big table and the solemnity
of the room may have first inspired him. "I suppose that's about
all," he said, looking up at Melmotte.

"Well;--perhaps as your lordship is in a hurry, and as my lord here
is engaged elsewhere,"--turning round to Lord Alfred, who had not
uttered a syllable or made a sign since he had been in his seat,--"we
had better adjourn this meeting for another week."

"I cannot allow that," said Paul Montague.

"I suppose then we must take the sense of the Board," said the
Chairman.

"I have been discussing certain circumstances with our friend and
Chairman," said Cohenlupe, "and I must say that it is not expedient
just at present to go into matters too freely."

"My lords and gentlemen," said Melmotte. "I hope that you trust me."

Lord Alfred bowed down to the table and muttered something which was
intended to convey most absolute confidence. "Hear, hear," said Mr.
Cohenlupe. "All right," said Lord Nidderdale; "go on;" and he fired
another pellet with improved success.

"I trust," said the Chairman, "that my young friend, Sir Felix,
doubts neither my discretion nor my ability."

"Oh dear, no;--not at all," said the baronet, much flattered at being
addressed in this kindly tone. He had come there with objects of his
own, and was quite prepared to support the Chairman on any matter
whatever.

"My Lords and Gentlemen," continued Melmotte, "I am delighted to
receive this expression of your confidence. If I know anything in the
world I know something of commercial matters. I am able to tell you
that we are prospering. I do not know that greater prosperity has
ever been achieved in a shorter time by a commercial company. I think
our friend here, Mr. Montague, should be as feelingly aware of that
as any gentleman."

"What do you mean by that, Mr. Melmotte?" asked Paul.

"What do I mean?--Certainly nothing adverse to your character, sir.
Your firm in San Francisco, sir, know very well how the affairs of
the Company are being transacted on this side of the water. No doubt
you are in correspondence with Mr. Fisker. Ask him. The telegraph
wires are open to you, sir. But, my Lords and Gentlemen, I am able
to inform you that in affairs of this nature great discretion is
necessary. On behalf of the shareholders at large whose interests
are in our hands, I think it expedient that any general statement
should be postponed for a short time, and I flatter myself that in
that opinion I shall carry the majority of this Board with me." Mr.
Melmotte did not make his speech very fluently; but, being accustomed
to the place which he occupied, he did manage to get the words spoken
in such a way as to make them intelligible to the company. "I now
move that this meeting be adjourned to this day week," he added.

"I second that motion," said Lord Alfred, without moving his hand
from his breast.

"I understood that we were to have a statement," said Montague.

"You've had a statement," said Mr. Cohenlupe.

"I will put my motion to the vote," said the Chairman.

"I shall move an amendment," said Paul, determined that he would not
be altogether silenced.

"There is nobody to second it," said Mr. Cohenlupe.

"How do you know till I've made it?" asked the rebel. "I shall ask
Lord Nidderdale to second it, and when he has heard it I think that
he will not refuse."

"Oh, gracious me! why me? No;--don't ask me. I've got to go away. I
have indeed."

"At any rate I claim the right of saying a few words. I do not say
whether every affair of this Company should or should not be
published to the world."

"You'd break up everything if you did," said Cohenlupe.

"Perhaps everything ought to be broken up. But I say nothing about
that. What I do say is this. That as we sit here as directors and
will be held to be responsible as such by the public, we ought to
know what is being done. We ought to know where the shares really
are. I for one do not even know what scrip has been issued."

"You've bought and sold enough to know something about it," said
Melmotte.

Paul Montague became very red in the face. "I, at any rate, began,"
he said, "by putting what was to me a large sum of money into the
affair."

"That's more than I know," said Melmotte. "Whatever shares you have,
were issued at San Francisco, and not here."

"I have taken nothing that I haven't paid for," said Montague. "Nor
have I yet had allotted to me anything like the number of shares
which my capital would represent. But I did not intend to speak of my
own concerns."

"It looks very like it," said Cohenlupe.

"So far from it that I am prepared to risk the not improbable loss of
everything I have in the world. I am determined to know what is being
done with the shares, or to make it public to the world at large
that I, one of the directors of the Company, do not in truth know
anything about it. I cannot, I suppose, absolve myself from further
responsibility; but I can at any rate do what is right from this time
forward,--and that course I intend to take."

"The gentleman had better resign his seat at this Board," said
Melmotte. "There will be no difficulty about that."

"Bound up as I am with Fisker and Montague in California I fear that
there will be difficulty."

"Not in the least," continued the Chairman. "You need only gazette
your resignation and the thing is done. I had intended, gentlemen, to
propose an addition to our number. When I name to you a gentleman,
personally known to many of you, and generally esteemed throughout
England as a man of business, as a man of probity, and as a man of
fortune, a man standing deservedly high in all British circles, I
mean Mr. Longestaffe of Caversham--"

"Young Dolly, or old?" asked Lord Nidderdale.

"I mean Mr. Adolphus Longestaffe, senior, of Caversham. I am sure
that you will all be glad to welcome him among you. I had thought
to strengthen our number by this addition. But if Mr. Montague
is determined to leave us,--and no one will regret the loss of
his services so much as I shall,--it will be my pleasing duty to
move that Adolphus Longestaffe, senior, Esquire, of Caversham, be
requested to take his place. If on reconsideration Mr. Montague shall
determine to remain with us,--and I for one most sincerely hope that
such reconsideration may lead to such determination,--then I shall
move that an additional director be added to our number, and that
Mr. Longestaffe be requested to take the chair of that additional
director." The latter speech Mr. Melmotte got through very glibly,
and then immediately left the chair, so as to show that the business
of the Board was closed for that day without any possibility of
reopening it.

Paul went up to him and took him by the sleeve, signifying that he
wished to speak to him before they parted. "Certainly," said the
great man bowing. "Carbury," he said, looking round on the young
baronet with his blandest smile, "if you are not in a hurry, wait a
moment for me. I have a word or two to say before you go. Now, Mr.
Montague, what can I do for you?" Paul began his story, expressing
again the opinion which he had already very plainly expressed at the
table. But Melmotte stopped him very shortly, and with much less
courtesy than he had shown in the speech which he had made from the
chair. "The thing is about this way, I take it, Mr. Montague;--you
think you know more of this matter than I do."

"Not at all, Mr. Melmotte."

"And I think that I know more of it than you do. Either of us may
be right. But as I don't intend to give way to you, perhaps the
less we speak together about it the better. You can't be in earnest
in the threat you made, because you would be making public things
communicated to you under the seal of privacy,--and no gentleman
would do that. But as long as you are hostile to me, I can't help
you;--and so good afternoon." Then, without giving Montague the
possibility of a reply, he escaped into an inner room which had the
word "Private" painted on the door, and which was supposed to belong
to the chairman individually. He shut the door behind him, and then,
after a few moments, put out his head and beckoned to Sir Felix
Carbury. Nidderdale was gone. Lord Alfred with his son were already
on the stairs. Cohenlupe was engaged with Melmotte's clerk on the
record-book. Paul Montague finding himself without support and alone,
slowly made his way out into the court.

Sir Felix had come into the city intending to suggest to the Chairman
that having paid his thousand pounds he should like to have a few
shares to go on with. He was, indeed, at the present moment very
nearly penniless, and had negotiated, or lost at cards, all the
I.O.U.'s which were in any degree serviceable. He still had a
pocket-book full of those issued by Miles Grendall; but it was now an
understood thing at the Beargarden that no one was to be called upon
to take them except Miles Grendall himself;--an arrangement which
robbed the card-table of much of its delight. Beyond this, also, he
had lately been forced to issue a little paper himself,--in doing
which he had talked largely of his shares in the railway. His case
certainly was hard. He had actually paid a thousand pounds down in
hard cash, a commercial transaction which, as performed by himself,
he regarded as stupendous. It was almost incredible to himself that
he should have paid any one a thousand pounds, but he had done it
with much difficulty,--having carried Dolly junior with him all the
way into the city,--in the belief that he would thus put himself in
the way of making a continual and unfailing income. He understood
that as a director he would be always entitled to buy shares at par,
and, as a matter of course, always able to sell them at the market
price. This he understood to range from ten to fifteen and twenty per
cent. profit. He would have nothing to do but to buy and sell daily.
He was told that Lord Alfred was allowed to do it to a small extent;
and that Melmotte was doing it to an enormous extent. But before he
could do it he must get something,--he hardly knew what,--out of
Melmotte's hands. Melmotte certainly did not seem disposed to shun
him, and therefore there could be no difficulty about the shares. As
to danger;--who could think of danger in reference to money intrusted
to the hands of Augustus Melmotte?

"I am delighted to see you here," said Melmotte, shaking him
cordially by the hand. "You come regularly, and you'll find that it
will be worth your while. There's nothing like attending to business.
You should be here every Friday."

"I will," said the baronet.

"And let me see you sometimes up at my place in Abchurch Lane. I can
put you more in the way of understanding things there than I can
here. This is all a mere formal sort of thing. You can see that."

"Oh yes, I see that."

"We are obliged to have this kind of thing for men like that fellow
Montague. By-the-bye, is he a friend of yours?"

"Not particularly. He is a friend of a cousin of mine; and the women
know him at home. He isn't a pal of mine if you mean that."

"If he makes himself disagreeable, he'll have to go to the
wall;--that's all. But never mind him at present. Was your mother
speaking to you of what I said to her?"

"No, Mr. Melmotte," said Sir Felix, staring with all his eyes.

"I was talking to her about you, and I thought that perhaps she might
have told you. This is all nonsense, you know, about you and Marie."
Sir Felix looked into the man's face. It was not savage, as he had
seen it. But there had suddenly come upon his brow that heavy look
of a determined purpose which all who knew the man were wont to mark.
Sir Felix had observed it a few minutes since in the Board-room,
when the chairman was putting down the rebellious director. "You
understand that; don't you?" Sir Felix still looked at him, but made
no reply. "It's all d---- nonsense. You haven't got a brass farthing,
you know. You've no income at all; you're just living on your mother,
and I'm afraid she's not very well off. How can you suppose that I
shall give my girl to you?" Felix still looked at him but did not
dare to contradict a single statement made. Yet when the man told
him that he had not a brass farthing he thought of his own thousand
pounds which were now in the man's pocket. "You're a baronet, and
that's about all, you know," continued Melmotte. "The Carbury
property, which is a very small thing, belongs to a distant cousin
who may leave it to me if he pleases;--and who isn't very much older
than you are yourself."

"Oh, come, Mr. Melmotte; he's a great deal older than me."

"It wouldn't matter if he were as old as Adam. The thing is out of
the question, and you must drop it." Then the look on his brow became
a little heavier. "You hear what I say. She is going to marry Lord
Nidderdale. She was engaged to him before you ever saw her. What do
you expect to get by it?"

Sir Felix had not the courage to say that he expected to get the girl
he loved. But as the man waited for an answer he was obliged to say
something. "I suppose it's the old story," he said.

"Just so;--the old story. You want my money, and she wants you, just
because she has been told to take somebody else. You want something
to live on;--that's what you want. Come;--out with it. Is not that
it? When we understand each other I'll put you in the way of making
money."

"Of course I'm not very well off," said Felix.

"About as badly as any young man that I can hear of. You give me your
written promise that you'll drop this affair with Marie, and you
shan't want for money."

"A written promise!"

"Yes;--a written promise. I give nothing for nothing. I'll put you in
the way of doing so well with these shares that you shall be able to
marry any other girl you please;--or to live without marrying, which
you'll find to be better."

There was something worthy of consideration in Mr. Melmotte's
proposition. Marriage of itself, simply as a domestic institution,
had not specially recommended itself to Sir Felix Carbury. A few
horses at Leighton, Ruby Ruggles or any other beauty, and life at the
Beargarden were much more to his taste. And then he was quite alive
to the fact that it was possible that he might find himself possessed
of the wife without the money. Marie, indeed, had a grand plan of her
own, with reference to that settled income; but then Marie might be
mistaken,--or she might be lying. If he were sure of making money in
the way Melmotte now suggested, the loss of Marie would not break
his heart. But then also Melmotte might be--lying. "By-the-bye, Mr.
Melmotte," said he, "could you let me have those shares?"

"What shares?" And the heavy brow became still heavier.

"Don't you know?--I gave you a thousand pounds, and I was to have ten
shares."

"You must come about that on the proper day, to the proper place."

"When is the proper day?"

"It is the twentieth of each month I think." Sir Felix looked very
blank at hearing this, knowing that this present was the twenty-first
of the month. "But what does that signify? Do you want a little
money?"

"Well, I do," said Sir Felix. "A lot of fellows owe me money, but
it's so hard to get it."

"That tells a story of gambling," said Mr. Melmotte. "You think I'd
give my girl to a gambler?"

"Nidderdale's in it quite as thick as I am."

"Nidderdale has a settled property which neither he nor his father
can destroy. But don't you be such a fool as to argue with me. You
won't get anything by it. If you'll write that letter here now--"

"What;--to Marie?"

"No;--not to Marie at all; but to me. It need never be shown to her.
If you'll do that I'll stick to you and make a man of you. And if you
want a couple of hundred pounds I'll give you a cheque for it before
you leave the room. Mind, I can tell you this. On my word of honour
as a gentleman, if my daughter were to marry you, she'd never have a
single shilling. I should immediately make a will and leave all my
property to St. George's Hospital. I have quite made up my mind about
that."

"And couldn't you manage that I should have the shares before the
twentieth of next month?"

"I'll see about it. Perhaps I could let you have a few of my own. At
any rate I won't see you short of money."

The terms were enticing and the letter was of course written.
Melmotte himself dictated the words, which were not romantic in their
nature. The reader shall see the letter.


DEAR SIR,

In consideration of the offers made by you to me, and
on a clear understanding that such a marriage would be
disagreeable to you and to the lady's mother, and would
bring down a father's curse upon your daughter, I hereby
declare and promise that I will not renew my suit to the
young lady, which I hereby altogether renounce.

I am, Dear Sir,
Your obedient Servant,

FELIX CARBURY.

AUGUSTUS MELMOTTE, Esq.,
--, Grosvenor Square.


The letter was dated 21st July, and bore the printed address of the
offices of the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway.

"You'll give me that cheque for £200, Mr. Melmotte?" The financier
hesitated for a moment, but did give the baronet the cheque as
promised. "And you'll see about letting me have those shares?"

"You can come to me in Abchurch Lane, you know." Sir Felix said that
he would call in Abchurch Lane.

As he went westward towards the Beargarden, the baronet was not happy
in his mind. Ignorant as he was as to the duties of a gentleman,
indifferent as he was to the feelings of others, still he felt
ashamed of himself. He was treating the girl very badly. Even he knew
that he was behaving badly. He was so conscious of it that he tried
to console himself by reflecting that his writing such a letter as
that would not prevent his running away with the girl, should he, on
consideration, find it to be worth his while to do so.

That night he was again playing at the Beargarden, and he lost a
great part of Mr. Melmotte's money. He did in fact lose much more
than the £200; but when he found his ready money going from him he
issued paper.




CHAPTER XXXVIII.

PAUL MONTAGUE'S TROUBLES.


Paul Montague had other troubles on his mind beyond this trouble of
the Mexican Railway. It was now more than a fortnight since he had
taken Mrs. Hurtle to the play, and she was still living in lodgings
at Islington. He had seen her twice, once on the following day,
when he was allowed to come and go without any special reference to
their engagement, and again, three or four days afterwards, when the
meeting was by no means so pleasant. She had wept, and after weeping
had stormed. She had stood upon what she called her rights, and
had dared him to be false to her. Did he mean to deny that he had
promised to marry her? Was not his conduct to her, ever since she had
now been in London, a repetition of that promise? And then again she
became soft, and pleaded with him. But for the storm he might have
given way. At that moment he had felt that any fate in life would be
better than a marriage on compulsion. Her tears and her pleadings,
nevertheless, touched him very nearly. He had promised her most
distinctly. He had loved her and had won her love. And she was
lovely. The very violence of the storm made the sunshine more sweet.
She would sit down on a stool at his feet, and it was impossible to
drive her away from him. She would look up in his face and he could
not but embrace her. Then there had come a passionate flood of tears
and she was in his arms. How he had escaped he hardly knew, but he
did know that he had promised to be with her again before two days
should have passed.

On the day named he wrote to her a letter excusing himself, which
was at any rate true in words. He had been summoned, he said, to
Liverpool on business, and must postpone seeing her till his return.
And he explained that the business on which he was called was
connected with the great American railway, and, being important,
demanded his attention. In words this was true. He had been
corresponding with a gentleman at Liverpool with whom he had become
acquainted on his return home after having involuntarily become a
partner in the house of Fisker, Montague, and Montague. This man he
trusted and had consulted, and the gentleman, Mr. Ramsbottom by name,
had suggested that he should come to him at Liverpool. He had gone,
and his conduct at the Board had been the result of the advice which
he had received; but it may be doubted whether some dread of the
coming interview with Mrs. Hurtle had not added strength to Mr.
Ramsbottom's invitation.

In Liverpool he had heard tidings of Mrs. Hurtle, though it can
hardly be said that he obtained any trustworthy information. The lady
after landing from an American steamer had been at Mr. Ramsbottom's
office, inquiring for him, Paul; and Mr. Ramsbottom had thought
that the inquiries were made in a manner indicating danger. He
therefore had spoken to a fellow-traveller with Mrs. Hurtle, and the
fellow-traveller had opined that Mrs. Hurtle was "a queer card." "On
board ship we all gave it up to her that she was about the handsomest
woman we had ever seen, but we all said that there was a bit of the
wild cat in her breeding." Then Mr. Ramsbottom had asked whether the
lady was a widow. "There was a man on board from Kansas," said the
fellow-traveller, "who knew a man named Hurtle at Leavenworth, who
was separated from his wife and is still alive. There was, according
to him, a queer story about the man and his wife having fought a duel
with pistols, and then having separated." This Mr. Ramsbottom, who in
an earlier stage of the affair had heard something of Paul and Mrs.
Hurtle together, managed to communicate to the young man. His advice
about the railway company was very clear and general, and such as
an honest man would certainly give; but it might have been conveyed
by letter. The information, such as it was, respecting Mrs. Hurtle,
could only be given vivâ voce, and perhaps the invitation to
Liverpool had originated in Mr. Ramsbottom's appreciation of this
fact. "As she was asking after you here, perhaps it is as well that
you should know," his friend said to him. Paul had only thanked
him, not daring on the spur of the moment to speak of his own
difficulties.

In all this there had been increased dismay, but there had also
been some comfort. It had only been at moments in which he had been
subject to her softer influences that Paul had doubted as to his
adherence to the letter which he had written to her, breaking off his
engagement. When she told him of her wrongs and of her love; of his
promise and his former devotion to her; when she assured him that
she had given up everything in life for him, and threw her arms
round him, looking into his eyes;--then he would almost yield. But
when, what the traveller called the breeding of the wild cat, showed
itself;--and when, having escaped from her, he thought of Hetta
Carbury and of her breeding,--he was fully determined that, let his
fate be what it might, it should not be that of being the husband of
Mrs. Hurtle. That he was in a mass of troubles from which it would be
very difficult for him to extricate himself he was well aware;--but
if it were true that Mr. Hurtle was alive, that fact might help
him. She certainly had declared him to be,--not separated, or even
divorced,--but dead. And if it were true also that she had fought a
duel with one husband, that also ought to be a reason why a gentleman
should object to become her second husband. These facts would at any
rate justify himself to himself, and would enable himself to break
from his engagement without thinking himself to be a false traitor.

But he must make up his mind as to some line of conduct. She must be
made to know the truth. If he meant to reject the lady finally on
the score of her being a wild cat, he must tell her so. He felt very
strongly that he must not flinch from the wild cat's claws. That he
would have to undergo some severe handling, an amount of clawing
which might perhaps go near his life, he could perceive. Having done
what he had done he would have no right to shrink from such usage.
He must tell her to her face that he was not satisfied with her
past life, and that therefore he would not marry her. Of course he
might write to her;--but when summoned to her presence he would be
unable to excuse himself, even to himself, for not going. It was his
misfortune,--and also his fault,--that he had submitted to be loved
by a wild cat.

But it might be well that before he saw her he should get hold of
information that might have the appearance of real evidence. He
returned from Liverpool to London on the morning of the Friday on
which the Board was held, and thought even more of all this than he
did of the attack which he was prepared to make on Mr. Melmotte. If
he could come across that traveller he might learn something. The
husband's name had been Caradoc Carson Hurtle. If Caradoc Carson
Hurtle had been seen in the State of Kansas within the last two
years, that certainly would be sufficient evidence. As to the duel he
felt that it might be very hard to prove that, and that if proved, it
might be hard to found upon the fact any absolute right on his part
to withdraw from the engagement. But there was a rumour also, though
not corroborated during his last visit to Liverpool, that she had