The Way We Live Now (79 page)

Such were the facts as far as they were known at Messrs Slow and Bideawhile's office – from whom no slightest rumour emanated; and as they had been in part collected by Squercum, who was probably less prudent. The Bideawhiles were still perfectly sure that Dolly had signed the letter, believing the young man to be quite incapable of knowing on any day what he had done on the day before.

Squercum was quite sure that his client had not signed it And it must be owned on Dolly's behalf that his manner on this occasion was qualified to convince. ‘Yes,' he said to Squercum; ‘it's easy saying that I'm lack-a-daisical. But I know when I'm lack-a-daisical and when I'm not. Awake or asleep, drunk or sober, I never signed that letter.' And Mr Squercum believed him.

It would be hard to say how the rumour first got into the City on this Monday morning. Though the elder Longestaffe had first heard of the matter only on the previous Saturday, Mr Squercum had been at work for above a week. Mr Squercum's little matter alone might hardly have attracted the attention which certainly was given on this day to Mr Melmotte's private affairs – but other facts coming to light assisted Squercum's views. A great many shares of the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway had been thrown upon the market, all of which had passed through the hands of Mr Cohenlupe – and Mr Cohenlupe in the City had been all to Mr Melmotte as Lord Alfred had been at the West End. Then there was the mortgage of this Pickering property, for which the money certainly had not been paid; and there was the traffic with half a street of houses near the Commercial Road, by which a large sum of money had come into Mr Melmotte's hands. It might, no doubt, all be right There were many who thought that it would all be right There were not a few who expressed the most thorough contempt for these rumours. But it was felt to be a pity that Mr Melmotte was not in the City.

This was the day of the dinner. The Lord Mayor had even made up his mind that he would not go to the dinner. What one of his brother aldermen said to him about leaving others in the lurch might be quite true; but, as his lordship remarked, Melmotte was a commercial man, and as these were commercial transactions it behoved the Lord Mayor of London to be more careful than other men. He had always had his doubts, and he would not go. Others of the chosen few of the City who had been honoured with commands to meet the emperor resolved upon absenting themselves unless the Lord Mayor went. The affair was very much discussed, and there were no less than six declared City defaulters. At the last moment a seventh was taken ill and sent a note to Miles Grendall excusing himself, which was thrust into the secretary's hands just as the emperor arrived.

But a reverse worse than this took place – a defalcation more injurious to the Melmotte interests generally even than that which was caused either by the prudence or by the cowardice of the City magnates. The House of Commons, at its meeting, had heard the tidings in an exaggerated form. It was whispered about that Melmotte had been detected in forging the deed of conveyance of a large property, and that he had already been visited by policemen. By some it was believed that the Great Financier would lie in the hands of the Philistines while the Emperor of China was being fed at his house. In the third edition of the
Evening Pulpit
came out a mysterious paragraph which nobody could understand but they who had known all about it before. ‘A rumour is prevalent that frauds to an enormous extent have been committed by a gentleman whose name we are particularly unwilling to mention. If it be so it is indeed remarkable that they should have come to light at the present moment. We cannot trust ourselves to say more than this.' No one wishes to dine with a swindler. No one likes even to have dined with a swindler – especially to have dined with him at a time when his swindling was known or suspected. The Emperor of China no doubt was going to dine with this man. The motions of emperors are managed with such ponderous care that it was held to be impossible now to save the country from what would doubtless be felt to be a disgrace if it should hereafter turn out that a forger had been solicited to entertain the imperial guest of the country. Nor was the thing as yet so far certain as to justify such a charge, were it possible. But many men were unhappy in their minds. How would the story be told hereafter if Melmotte should be allowed to play out his game of host to the emperor, and be arrested for forgery as soon as the Eastern monarch should have left his
house? How would the Brother of the Sun like the remembrance of the banquet which he had been instructed to honour with his presence? How would it tell in all the foreign newspapers, in New York, in Paris, and Vienna that this man who had been cast forth from the United States, from France, and from Austria had been selected as the great and honourable type of British Commerce? There were those in the House who thought that the absolute consummation of the disgrace might yet be avoided, and who were of opinion that the dinner should be ‘postponed'. The leader of the Opposition had a few words on the subject with the Prime Minister. ‘It is the merest rumour,' said the Prime Minister. ‘I have inquired, and there is nothing to justify me in thinking that the charges can be substantiated.'

‘They say that the story is believed in the City.'

‘I should not feel myself justified in acting upon such a report. The prince might probably find it impossible not to go. Where should we be if Mr Melmotte to-morrow were able to prove the whole to be a calumny, and to show that the thing had been got up with a view of influencing the election at Westminster? The dinner must certainly go on.'

‘And you will go yourself?'

‘Most assuredly,' said the Prime Minister. ‘And I hope that you will keep me in countenance.' His political antagonist declared with a smile that at such a crisis he would not desert his honourable friend – but he could not answer for his followers. There was, he admitted, a strong feeling among the leaders of the Conservative party of distrust in Melmotte. He considered it probable that among his friends who had been invited there would be some who would be unwilling to meet even the Emperor of China on the existing terms. ‘They should remember,' said the Prime Minister, ‘that they are also to meet their own prince, and that empty seats on such an occasion will be a dishonour to him.'

Just at present I can only answer for myself,' said the leader of the Opposition. – At that moment even the Prime Minister was much disturbed in his mind; but in such emergencies a prime minister can only choose the least of two evils. To have taken the emperor to dine with a swindler would be very bad; but to desert him, and to stop the coming of the emperor and all the princes on a false rumour, would be worse.

It does sometimes occur in life that an unambitious man, who is in no degree given to enterprises, who would fain be safe, is driven by the cruelty of circumstances into a position in which he must choose a side, and in which, though he has no certain guide as to which side he should choose, he is aware that he will be disgraced if he should take the wrong side. This was felt as a hardship by many who were quite suddenly forced to make up their mind whether they would go to Melmotte's dinner, or join themselves to the faction of those who had determined to stay away although they had accepted invitations. Some there were not without a suspicion that the story against Melmotte had been got up simply as an electioneering trick – so that Mr Alf might carry the borough on the next day. As a dodge for an election this might be very well, but any who might be deterred by such a manoeuvre from meeting the emperor and supporting the prince would surely be marked men. And none of the wives, when they were consulted, seemed to care a straw whether Melmotte was a swindler or not. Would the emperor and the princes and princesses be there? This was the only question which concerned them. They did not care whether Melmotte was arrested at the dinner or after the dinner, so long as they, with others, could show their diamonds in the presence of Eastern and Western royalty. But yet – what a fiasco would it be, if at this very instant of time the host should be apprehended for common forgery! The great thing was to ascertain whether others were going. If a hundred or more out of the two hundred were to be absent how dreadful would be the position of those who were present! And how would the thing go if at the last moment the emperor should be kept away. The Prime Minister had decided that the emperor and the prince should remain altogether in ignorance of the charges which were preferred against the man; but of that these doubters were unaware. There was but little time for a man to go about town and pick up the truth from those who were really informed; and questions were asked in an uncomfortable and restless manner. ‘Is your Grace going?' said Lionel Lupton to the Duchess of Stevenage – having left the House and gone into the park between six and seven to pick up some hints among those who were known to have been invited. The duchess was
Lord Alfred's sister, and of course she was going. ‘I usually keep engagements when I make them, Mr Lupton,' said the duchess. She had been assured by Lord Alfred not a quarter of an hour before that everything was as straight as a die. Lord Alfred had not then even heard of the rumour. But ultimately both Lionel Lupton and Beauchamp Beauclerk attended the dinner. They had received special tickets as supporters of Mr Melmotte at the election – out of the scanty number allotted to that gendeman himself – and they thought themselves bound in honour to be there. But they, with their leader, and one other influential member of the party, were all who at last came as the political friends of the candidate for Westminster. The existing ministers were bound to attend to the emperor and the prince. But members of the Opposition, by their presence, would support the man and the politician, and both as a man and as a politician they were ashamed of him.

When Melmotte arrived at his own door with his wife and daughter he had heard nothing of the matter. That a man so vexed with affairs of money, so laden with cares, encompassed by such dangers, should be free from suspicion and fear it is impossible to imagine. That such burdens should be borne at all is a wonder to those whose shoulders have never been broadened for such work – as is the strength of the blacksmith's arm to men who have never wielded a hammer. Surely his whole life must have been a life of terrors! But of any special peril to which he was at that moment subject, or of any embarrassment which might affect the work of the evening, he knew nothing. He placed his wife in the drawing-room and himself in the hall, and arranged his immediate satellites around him – among whom were included the two Grendalls, young Nidderdale, and Mr Cohenlupe – with a feeling of gratified glory. Nidderdale down at the House had heard the rumour, but had determined that he would not as yet fly from his colours. Cohenlupe had also come up from the House, where no one had spoken to him. Though grievously frightened during the last fortnight, he had not dared to be on the wing as yet. And, indeed, to what clime could such a bird as he fly in safety? He had not only heard – but also knew very much, and was not prepared to enjoy the feast. Since they had been in the hall Miles had spoken dreadful words to his father. ‘You've heard about it; haven't you?' whispered Miles. Lord Alfred, remembering his sister's question, became almost pale, but declared that he had heard nothing. ‘They're saying all manner of things in the City – forgery and heaven knows what The Lord Mayor is not coming.' Lord Alfred made
no reply. It was the philosophy of his life that misfortunes when they came should be allowed to settle themselves. But he was unhappy.

The grand arrivals were fairly punctual, and the very grand people all came. The unfortunate emperor – we must consider a man to be unfortunate who is compelled to go through such work as this – with impassible and awful dignity, was marshalled into the room on the ground floor, whence he and other royalties were to be marshalled back into the banqueting-hall. Melmotte, bowing to the ground, walked backwards before him, and was probably taken by the emperor for some Court Master of the Ceremonies especially selected to walk backwards on this occasion. The princes had all shaken hands with their host, and the princesses had bowed graciously. Nothing of the rumour had as yet been whispered in royal palaces. Besides royalty, the company allowed to enter the room downstairs was very select. The Prime Minister, one archbishop, two duchesses, and an ex-governor of India with whose features the emperor was supposed to be peculiarly familiar, were alone there. The remainder of the company, under the superintendence of Lord Alfred, were received in the drawing-room above. Everything was going on well, and they who had come and had thought of not coming were proud of their wisdom.

But when the company was seated at dinner the deficiencies were visible enough, and were unfortunate. Who does not know the effect made by the absence of one or two from a table intended for ten or twelve – how grievous are the empty places, how destructive of the outward harmony and grace which the hostess has endeavoured to preserve are these interstices, how the lady in her wrath declares to herself that those guilty ones shall never have another opportunity of filling a seat at her table? Some twenty, most of whom had been asked to bring their wives, had slunk from their engagements, and the empty spaces were sufficient to declare a united purpose. A week since it had been understood that admission for the evening could not be had for love or money, and that a seat at the dinner-table was as a seat at some banquet of the gods! Now it looked as though the room were but half-filled. There were six absences from the City. Another six of Mr Melmotte's own political party were away. The archbishops and the bishop were there, because bishops never hear worldly tidings till after other people – but that very Master of the Buckhounds for whom so much pressure had been made did not come. Two or three peers were absent, and so also was that editor who had been chosen to fill Mr Alf's place. One poet, two painters, and a philosopher had received timely
notice at their clubs, and had gone home. The three independent members of the House of Commons for once agreed in their policy, and would not lend the encouragement of their presence to a man suspected of forgery. Nearly forty places were vacant when the business of the dinner commenced.