The Way We Live Now (61 page)

‘I don't believe the
Evening Pulpit
can prove it – and I'm sure that they
can't attempt to prove it without an expense of three or four thousand pounds. That's a game in which nobody wins but the lawyers. I wonder at Alf. I should have thought that he would have known how to get all said that he wanted to have said without running with his head into the lion's mouth. He has been so clever up to this! God knows he has been bitter enough, but he has always sailed within the wind.'

Mr Alf had a powerful committee. By this time an animus in regard to the election had been created strong enough to bring out the men on both sides, and to produce heat, when otherwise there might only have been a warmth, or, possibly frigidity. The Whig marquises and the Whig barons came forward, and with them the Liberal professional men, and the tradesmen who had found that party to answer best, and the democratical mechanics. If Melmotte's money did not, at last, utterly demoralize the lower class of voters, there would still be a good fight. And there was a strong hope that, under the ballot, Melmotte's money might be taken without a corresponding effect upon the voting. It was found upon trial that Mr Alf was a good speaker. And though he still conducted the
Evening Pulpit
, he made time for addressing meetings of the constituency almost daily. And in his speeches he never spared Melmotte. No one, he said, had a greater reverence for mercantile grandeur than himself. But let them take care that the grandeur was grand. How great would be the disgrace to such a borough as that of Westminster if it should find that it had been taken in by a false spirit of speculation, and that it had surrendered itself to gambling when it had thought to do honour to honest commerce. This, connected as of course it was, with the articles in the paper, was regarded as very open speaking. And it had its effect. Some men began to say that Melmotte had not been known long enough to deserve confidence in his riches, and the Lord Mayor was already beginning to think that it might be wise to escape the dinner by some excuse.

Melmotte's committee was also very grand. If Alf was supported by marquises and barons, he was supported by dukes and earls. But his speaking in public did not of itself inspire much confidence. He had very little to say when he attempted to explain the political principles on which he intended to act. After a little he confined himself to remarks on the personal attacks made on him by the other side, and even in doing that was reiterative rather than diffusive. Let them prove it He defied them to prove it. Englishmen were too great, too generous, too honest, too noble – the men of Westminster especially were a great deal too high-minded to pay any attention to such charges as these till
they were proved. Then he began again. Let them prove it. Such accusations as these were mere lies till they were proved. He did not say much himself in public as to actions for libel – but assurances were made on his behalf to the electors, especially by Lord Alfred Grendall and his son, that as soon as the election was over all speakers and writers would be indicted for libel, who should be declared by proper legal advice to have made themselves liable to such action. The
Evening Pulpit
and Mr Alf would of course be the first victims.

The dinner was fixed for Monday, July the 8th. The election for the borough was to be held on Tuesday the 9th. It was generally thought that the proximity of the two days had been arranged with the view of enhancing Melmotte's expected triumph. But such in truth was not the case. It had been an accident, and an accident that was distressing to some of the Melmottites. There was much to be done about the dinner – which could not be omitted; and much also as to the election – which was imperative. The two Grendalls, father and son, found themselves to be so driven that the world seemed for them to be turned topsy-turvy. The elder had in old days been accustomed to electioneering in the interest of his own family, and had declared himself willing to make himself useful on behalf of Mr Melmotte. But he found Westminster to be almost too much for him. He was called here and sent there, till he was very near rebellion. ‘If this goes on much longer I shall cut it,' he said to his son.

‘Think of me, governor,' said the son. ‘I have to be in the City four or five times a week.'

‘You've a regular salary.'

‘Come, governor; you've done pretty well for that. What's my salary to the shares you've had. The thing is – will it last?'

‘How last?'

‘There are a good many who say that Melmotte will burst up.'

‘I don't believe it,' said Lord Alfred. ‘They don't know what they're talking about. There are too manyin the same boat to let him burst up. It would be the bursting up of half London. But I shall tell him after this that he must make it easier. He wants to know who's to have every ticket for the dinner, and there's nobody to tell him except me. And I've got to arrange all the places, and nobody to help me except that fellow from the Herald's office. I don't know about people's rank. Which ought to come first; a director of the Bank or a fellow who writes books?' Miles suggested that the fellow from the Herald's office would know all about that, and that his father need not trouble himself with petty details.

*

‘And you shall come to us for three days – after it's over,' said Lady Monogram to Miss Longestaffe; a proposition to which Miss Longestaffe acceded, willingly indeed, but not by any means as though a favour had been conferred upon her. Now the reason why Lady Monogram had changed her mind as to inviting her old friend, and thus threw open her hospitality for three whole days to the poor young lady who had disgraced herself by staying with the Melmottes, was as follows. Miss Longestaffe had the disposal of two evening tickets for Madame Mel-motte's grand reception; and, so greatly had the Melmottes risen in general appreciation, that Lady Monogram had found that she was bound, on behalf of her own position in society, to be present on that occasion. It would not do that her name should not be in the printed list of the guests. Therefore she had made a serviceable bargain with her old friend Miss Longestaffe. She was to have her two tickets for the reception, and Miss Longestaffe was to be received for three days as a guest by Lady Monogram. It had also been conceded that at any rate on one of these nights Lady Monogram should take Miss Longestaffe out with her, and that she should herself receive company on another. There was perhaps something slightly painful at the commencement of the negotiation; but such feelings soon fade away, and Lady Monogram was quite a woman of the world.

About this time, a fortnight or nearly so before the election, Mr Longestaffe came up to town and saw Mr Melmotte very frequently. He could not go into his own house, as he had let that for a month to the great financier, nor had he any establishment in town; but he slept at an hotel and lived at the Carlton.
¹
He was quite delighted to find that his new friend was an honest Conservative, and he himself proposed the honest Conservative at the club. There was some idea of electing Mr Melmotte out of hand, but it was decided that the club could not go beyond its rule, and could only admit Mr Melmotte out of his regular turn as soon as he should occupy a seat in the House of Commons. Mr Melmotte, who was becoming somewhat arrogant, was heard to declare
that if the club did not take him when he was willing to be taken, it might do without him. If not elected at once, he should withdraw his name. So great was his prestige at this moment with his own party that there were some, Mr Longestaffe among the number, who pressed the thing on the committee. Mr Melmotte was not like other men. It was a great thing to have Mr Melmotte in the party. Mr Melmotte's financial capabilities would in themselves be a tower of strength. Rules were not made to control the club in a matter of such importance as this. A noble lord, one among seven who had been named as a fit leader of the Upper House on the Conservative side in the next session, was asked to take the matter up; and men thought the thing might have been done had he complied. But he was old-fashioned, perhaps pig-headed; and the club for the time lost the honour of entertaining Mr Melmotte.

It may be remembered that Mr Longestaffe had been anxious to become one of the directors of the Mexican Railway, and that he was rather snubbed than encouraged when he expressed his wish to Mr Melmotte. Like other great men, Mr Melmotte liked to choose his own time for bestowing favours. Since that request was made the proper time had come, and he had now intimated to Mr Longestaffe that in a somewhat altered condition of things there would be a place for him at the board, and that he and his brother directors would be delighted to avail themselves of his assistance. The alliance between Mr Melmotte and Mr Longestaffe had become very close. The Melmottes had visited the Longestaffes at Caversham. Georgiana Longestaffe was staying with Madame Melmotte in London. The Melmottes were living in Mr Longestaffe's town-house, having taken it for a month at a very high rent Mr Longestaffe now had a seat at Mr Melmotte's board. And Mr Melmotte had bought Mr Longestaffe's estate at Pickering on terms very favourable to the Longestaffes. It had been suggested to Mr Longestaffe by Mr Melmotte that he had better qualify for his seat at the board by taking shares in the company to the amount of – perhaps two or three thousand pounds, and Mr Longestaffe had of course consented. There would be no need of any transaction in absolute cash. The shares could of course be paid for out of Mr Longestaffe's half of the purchase money for Pickering Park, and could remain for the present in Mr Melmotte's hands. To this also Mr Longestaffe had consented, not quite understanding why the scrip should not be made over to him at once.

It was a part of the charm of all dealings with this great man that no ready money seemed ever to be necessary for anything. Great purchases
were made and great transactions apparently completed without the signing even of a cheque. Mr Longestaffe found himself to be afraid even to give a hint to Mr Melmotte about ready money. In speaking of all such matters Melmotte seemed to imply that everything necessary had been done, when he had said that it was done. Pickering had been purchased and the title-deeds made over to Mr Melmotte; but the £80,000 had not been paid – had not been absolutely paid, though of course Mr Melmotte's note assenting to the terms was security sufficient for any reasonable man. The property had been mortgaged, though not heavily, and Mr Melmotte had no doubt satisfied the mortgagee; but there was still a sum of £50,000 to come, of which Dolly was to have one half and the other was to be employed in paying off Mr Longestaffe's debts to tradesmen and debts to the bank. It would have been very pleasant to have had this at once – but Mr Longestaffe felt the absurdity of pressing such a man as Mr Melmotte, and was partly conscious of the gradual consummation of a new era in money matters. ‘If your banker is pressing you, refer him to me,' Mr Melmotte had said. As for many years past we have exchanged paper instead of actual money for our commodities, so now it seemed that, under the new Melmotte régime, an exchange of words was to suffice.

But Dolly wanted his money. Dolly, idle as he was, foolish as he was, dissipated as he was, and generally indifferent to his debts, liked to have what belonged to him. It had all been arranged. Five thousand pounds would pay off all his tradesmen's debts and leave him comfortably possessed of money in hand, while the other twenty thousand pounds would make his own property free. There was a charm in this which awakened even Dolly, and for the time almost reconciled him to his father's society. But now a shade of impatience was coming over him. He had actually gone down to Caversham to arrange the terms with his father – and had in fact made his own terms. His father had been unable to move him, and had consequently suffered much in spirit. Dolly had been almost triumphant – thinking that the money would come on the next day, or at any rate during the next week. Now he came to his father early in the morning – at about two o'clock – to inquire what was being done. He had not as yet been made blessed with a single ten-pound note in his hand, as the result of the sale.

‘Are you going to see Melmotte, sir?' he asked somewhat abruptly.

‘Yes – I'm to be with him to-morrow, and he is to introduce me to the board.'

‘You're going in for that, are you, sir? Do they pay anything?'

‘I believe not.'

‘Nidderdale and young Carbury belong to it. It's a sort of Beargarden affair.'

‘A bear-garden affair, Adolphus. How so?'

‘I mean the club. We had them all there for dinner one day, and a jolly dinner we gave them. Miles Grendall and old Alfred belong to it. I don't think they'd go in for it, if there was no money going. I'd make them fork out something if I took the trouble of going all that way.'

‘I think that perhaps, Adolphus, you hardly understand these things.'

‘No, I don't. I don't understand much about business, I know. What I want to understand is, when Melmotte is going to pay up this money.'

‘I suppose he'll arrange it with the banks,' said the father.

‘I beg that he won't arrange my money with the banks, sir. You'd better tell him not. A cheque upon his bank which I can pay in to mine is about the best thing going. You'll be in the City to-morrow, and you'd better tell him. If you don't like, you know, I'll get Squercum to do it' Mr Squercum was a lawyer whom Dolly had employed of late years much to the annoyance of his parent. Mr Squercum's name was odious to Mr Longestaffe.

‘I beg you'll do nothing of the kind. It will be very foolish if you do – perhaps ruinous.'

‘Then he'd better pay up, like anybody else,' said Dolly as he left the room. The father knew the son, and was quite sure that Squercum would have his finger in the pie unless the money were paid quickly. When Dolly had taken an idea into his head, no power on earth – no power at least of which the father could avail himself – would turn him.