The Way We Live Now Part 56

Paul not knowing how to escape, said that he would come in the evening. "I am particularly anxious," continued he, "to be civil to those who are connected with our great Railway, and of course, in this country, your name stands first,--next to my own."

Then the great man paused, and Paul began to wonder whether it could be possible that he had been sent for to Grosvenor Square on a Sunday morning in order that he might be asked to dine in the same house a fortnight later. But that was impossible. "Have you anything special to say about the Railway?" he asked.

"Well, yes. It is so hard to get things said at the Board. Of course there are some there who do not understand matters."

"I doubt if there be any one there who does understand this matter,"

said Paul.

Melmotte affected to laugh. "Well, well; I am not prepared to go quite so far as that. My friend Cohenlupe has had great experience in these affairs, and of course you are aware that he is in Parliament.

And Lord Alfred sees farther into them than perhaps you give him credit for."

"He may easily do that."

"Well, well. Perhaps you don't know quite as well as I do." The scowl began to appear on Mr. Melmotte's brow. Hitherto it had been banished as well as he knew how to banish it. "What I wanted to say to you was this. We didn't quite agree at the last meeting."

"No; we did not."

"I was very sorry for it. Unanimity is everything in the direction of such an undertaking as this. With unanimity we can do--everything."

Mr. Melmotte in the ecstasy of his enthusiasm lifted up both his hands over his head. "Without unanimity we can do--nothing." And the two hands fell. "Unanimity should be printed everywhere about a Board-room. It should, indeed, Mr. Montague."

"But suppose the directors are not unanimous."

"They should be unanimous. They should make themselves unanimous. G.o.d bless my soul! You don't want to see the thing fall to pieces!"

"Not if it can be carried on honestly."

"Honestly! Who says that anything is dishonest?" Again the brow became very heavy. "Look here, Mr. Montague. If you and I quarrel in the Board-room, there is no knowing the amount of evil we may do to every individual shareholder in the Company. I find the responsibility on my shoulders so great that I say the thing must be stopped. Damme, Mr. Montague, it must be stopped. We mustn't ruin widows and children, Mr. Montague. We mustn't let those shares run down 20 below par for a mere chimera. I've known a fine property blasted, Mr. Montague, sent straight to the dogs,--annihilated, sir;--so that it all vanished into thin air, and widows and children past counting were sent out to starve about the streets,--just because one director sat in another director's chair. I did, by G--!

What do you think of that, Mr. Montague? Gentlemen who don't know the nature of credit, how strong it is,--as the air,--to buoy you up; how slight it is,--as a mere vapour,--when roughly touched, can do an amount of mischief of which they themselves don't in the least understand the extent! What is it you want, Mr. Montague?"

"What do I want?" Melmotte's description of the peculiar susceptibility of great mercantile speculations had not been given without some effect on Montague, but this direct appeal to himself almost drove that effect out of his mind. "I only want justice."

"But you should know what justice is before you demand it at the expense of other people. Look here, Mr. Montague. I suppose you are like the rest of us, in this matter. You want to make money out of it."

"For myself, I want interest for my capital; that is all. But I am not thinking of myself."

"You are getting very good interest. If I understand the matter," and here Melmotte pulled out a little book, showing thereby how careful he was in mastering details,--"you had about 6,000 embarked in the business when Fisker joined your firm. You imagine yourself to have that still."

"I don't know what I've got."

"I can tell you then. You have that, and you've drawn nearly a thousand pounds since Fisker came over, in one shape or another.

That's not bad interest on your money."

"There was back interest due to me."

"If so, it's due still. I've nothing to do with that. Look here, Mr.

Montague. I am most anxious that you should remain with us. I was about to propose, only for that little rumpus the other day, that, as you're an unmarried man, and have time on your hands, you should go out to California and probably across to Mexico, in order to get necessary information for the Company. Were I of your age, unmarried, and without impediment, it is just the thing I should like. Of course you'd go at the Company's expense. I would see to your own personal interests while you were away;--or you could appoint any one by power of attorney. Your seat at the Board would be kept for you; but, should anything occur amiss,--which it won't, for the thing is as sound as anything I know,--of course you, as absent, would not share the responsibility. That's what I was thinking. It would be a delightful trip;--but if you don't like it, you can of course remain at the Board, and be of the greatest use to me. Indeed, after a bit I could devolve nearly the whole management on you;--and I must do something of the kind, as I really haven't the time for it. But,--if it is to be that way,--do be unanimous. Unanimity is the very soul of these things;--the very soul, Mr. Montague."

"But if I can't be unanimous?"

"Well;--if you can't, and if you won't take my advice about going out;--which, pray, think about, for you would be most useful. It might be the very making of the railway;--then I can only suggest that you should take your 6,000 and leave us. I, myself, should be greatly distressed; but if you are determined that way I will see that you have your money. I will make myself personally responsible for the payment of it,--some time before the end of the year."

Paul Montague told the great man that he would consider the whole matter, and see him in Abchurch Lane before the next Board day. "And now, good-bye," said Mr. Melmotte, as he bade his young friend adieu in a hurry. "I'm afraid that I'm keeping Sir Gregory Gribe, the Bank Director, waiting downstairs."

CHAPTER XLI.

ALL PREPARED.

During all these days Miss Melmotte was by no means contented with her lover's prowess, though she would not allow herself to doubt his sincerity. She had not only a.s.sured him of her undying affection in the presence of her father and mother, had not only offered to be chopped in pieces on his behalf, but had also written to him, telling how she had a large sum of her father's money within her power, and how willing she was to make it her own, to throw over her father and mother, and give herself and her fortune to her lover. She felt that she had been very gracious to her lover, and that her lover was a little slow in acknowledging the favours conferred upon him. But, nevertheless, she was true to her lover, and believed that he was true to her. Didon had been hitherto faithful. Marie had written various letters to Sir Felix and had received two or three very short notes in reply, containing hardly more than a word or two each. But now she was told that a day was absolutely fixed for her marriage with Lord Nidderdale, and that her things were to be got ready. She was to be married in the middle of August, and here they were, approaching the end of June. "You may buy what you like, mamma," she said; "and if papa agrees about Felix, why then I suppose they'll do.

But they'll never be of any use about Lord Nidderdale. If you were to sew me up in the things by main force, I wouldn't have him." Madame Melmotte groaned, and scolded in English, French, and German, and wished that she were dead; she told Marie that she was a pig, and a.s.s, and a toad, and a dog. And, ended, as she always did end, by swearing that Melmotte must manage the matter himself. "n.o.body shall manage this matter for me," said Marie. "I know what I'm about now, and I won't marry anybody just because it will suit papa." "Que nous etions encore a Frankfort, ou New-York," said the elder lady, remembering the humbler but less troubled times of her earlier life.

Marie did not care for Frankfort or New York; for Paris or for London;--but she did care for Sir Felix Carbury.

While her father on Sunday morning was transacting business in his own house with Paul Montague and the great commercial magnates of the city,--though it may be doubted whether that very respectable gentleman Sir Gregory Gribe was really in Grosvenor Square when his name was mentioned,--Marie was walking inside the gardens; Didon was also there at some distance from her; and Sir Felix Carbury was there also close alongside of her. Marie had the key of the gardens for her own use; and had already learned that her neighbours in the square did not much frequent the place during church time on Sunday morning.

Her lover's letter to her father had of course been shown to her, and she had taxed him with it immediately. Sir Felix, who had thought much of the letter as he came from Welbeck Street to keep his appointment,--having been a.s.sured by Didon that the gate should be left unlocked, and that she would be there to close it after he had come in,--was of course ready with a lie. "It was the only thing to do, Marie;--it was indeed."

"But you said you had accepted some offer."

"You don't suppose I wrote the letter?"

"It was your handwriting, Felix."

"Of course it was. I copied just what he put down. He'd have sent you clean away where I couldn't have got near you if I hadn't written it."

"And you have accepted nothing?"

"Not at all. As it is, he owes me money. Is not that odd? I gave him a thousand pounds to buy shares, and I haven't got anything from him yet." Sir Felix, no doubt, forgot the cheque for 200.

"n.o.body ever does who gives papa money," said the observant daughter.

"Don't they? Dear me! But I just wrote it because I thought anything better than a downright quarrel."

"I wouldn't have written it, if it had been ever so."

"It's no good scolding, Marie. I did it for the best. What do you think we'd best do now?" Marie looked at him, almost with scorn.

Surely it was for him to propose and for her to yield. "I wonder whether you're right about that money which you say is settled."

"I'm quite sure. Mamma told me in Paris,--just when we were coming away,--that it was done so that there might be something if things went wrong. And papa told me that he should want me to sign something from time to time; and of course I said I would. But of course I won't,--if I should have a husband of my own." Felix walked along, pondering the matter, with his hands in his trousers pockets. He entertained those very fears which had latterly fallen upon Lord Nidderdale. There would be no "cropper" which a man could "come" so bad as would be his cropper were he to marry Marie Melmotte, and then find that he was not to have a s.h.i.+lling! And, were he now to run off with Marie, after having written that letter, the father would certainly not forgive him. This a.s.surance of Marie's as to the settled money was too doubtful! The game to be played was too full of danger! And in that case he would certainly get neither his 800, nor the shares. And if he were true to Melmotte, Melmotte would probably supply him with ready money. But then there was the girl at his elbow, and he no more dared to tell her to her face that he meant to give her up, than he dared to tell Melmotte that he intended to stick to his engagement. Some half promise would be the only escape for the present. "What are you thinking of, Felix?" she asked.

"It's d---- difficult to know what to do."

"But you do love me?"

"Of course I do. If I didn't love you why should I be here walking round this stupid place? They talk of your being married to Nidderdale about the end of August."

"Some day in August. But that's all nonsense, you know. They can't take me up and marry me, as they used to do the girls ever so long ago. I won't marry him. He don't care a bit for me, and never did. I don't think you care much, Felix."