The Three Clerks Part 65

'And you are kind enough to pa.s.s him on to me.'

'Listen a moment. I did not do anything of the kind. I never lend money to Val. It's a principle with me not to do so, and he knows it.'

'Then just tell him that my principles in this respect are identical with your own.'

'That's all very well; and you may tell him so yourself, if you like it; but hear first of all what his arguments are. Of course I told him I could do nothing for him. 'But,' said he, 'you can get Tudor to do it.' I told him, of course, that I could do nothing of the kind. 'Oh!' said Val, 'I know the game you are both playing. I know all about Clem's money.' Val, you know, never says much. He was playing pool at the time, at the club; but he came back after his stroke, and whispered to me--'You and Tudor must let me have 250 of those shares, and then it'll be all right.' Now Val, you know, is a most determined fellow.

Alaric, when he heard this, looked up into his companion's face to see whether he was talking to the Evil One himself. Oh, what a net of ruin was closing round him!--how inextricable were the toils into which he had fallen!

'After all,' continued Undy,' what he asks is not much, and I really think you should do it for him. He is quite willing to give you his a.s.sistance at Strathbogy, and he is ent.i.tled to some accommodation.'

'Some accommodation!' repeated Alaric, almost lost in the consideration of his own misery.

'Yes; I really think he is. And, Tudor, you may be sure of this, you know; you will be quite safe with him. Val is the very soul of honour. Do this for him, and you'll hear no more about it. You may be quite sure he'll ask for nothing further, and that he'll never say a word to annoy you. He's devilish honourable is Val; no man can be more so; though, perhaps, you wouldn't think it.'

'Devilish honourable!' said Alaric. 'Only he would like to have a bribe.'

'A bribe!' said Scott. 'Come, my dear fellow, don't you make an a.s.s of yourself. Val is like the rest of us; when money is going, he likes to have a share of it. If you come to that, every man who is paid either for talking or for not talking is bribed.'

'I don't know that I ever heard of a much clearer case of a bribe than this which you now demand for your brother.'

'Bribe or no bribe,' said Undy, looking at his watch, 'I strongly advise you to do for him what he asks; it will be better for all of us. And let me give you another piece of advice: never use hard words among friends. Do you remember the Mary Janes which Manylodes brought for you in his pocket to the hotel at Tavistock?' Here Alaric turned as pale as a spectre. 'Don't talk of bribes, my dear fellow. We are all of us giving and taking bribes from our cradles to our graves; but men of the world generally call them by some prettier names. Now, if you are not desirous to throw your cards up altogether, get these shares for Val, and let him or me have them to-morrow morning.' And so saying Undy disappeared into the House, through the side door out of the hall, which is appropriated to the use of honourable members.

And then Alaric was left alone. He had never hitherto realized the true facts of the position in which he had placed himself; but now he did so. He was in the hands of these men, these miscreants, these devils; he was completely at their mercy, and he already felt that they were as devoid of mercy as they were of justice. A cold sweat broke out all over him, and he continued walking up and down the hall, ignorant as to where he was and what he was doing, almost thoughtless, stunned, as it were, by his misery and the conviction that he was a ruined man. He had remained there an hour after Undy had left him, before he roused himself sufficiently to leave the hall and think of returning home. It was then seven o'clock, and he remembered that he had asked his cousin to dine with him. He got into a cab, therefore, and desired to be driven home.

What was he to do? On one point he instantly made up his mind. He would not give one s.h.i.+lling to Captain Val; he would not advance another s.h.i.+lling to Undy; and he would at once sell out his own shares, and make such immediate rest.i.tution as might now be in his power. The mention of Manylodes and the mining shares had come home to him with frightful reality, and nearly stunned him.

What right, indeed, had he to talk of bribes with scorn--he who so early in his own life had allowed himself to be bought? How could he condemn the itching palm of such a one as Val Scott--he who had been so ready to open his own when he had been tempted by no want, by no poverty?

He would give nothing to Captain Val to bribe him to silence. He knew that if he did so, he would be a slave for ever. The appet.i.te of such a shark as that, when once he has tasted blood, is unappeasable. There is nothing so ruinous as buying the silence of a rogue who has a secret.

What you buy you never possess; and the price that is once paid must be repaid again and again, as often as the rogue may demand it. Any alternative must be better than this.

And yet what other alternative was there? He did not doubt that Val, when disappointed of his prey, would reveal whatever he might know to his wife, or to his stepson. Then there would be nothing for Alaric but confession and ruin. And how could he believe what Undy Scott had told him? Who else could have given information against him but Undy himself? Who else could have put up so heavily stupid a man as Captain Scott to make such a demand? Was it not clear that his own colleague, his own partner, his own intimate a.s.sociate, Undy Scott himself, was positively working out his ruin? Where were now his high hopes, where now his seat in Parliament, his authority at the board, his proud name, his soaring ambition, his constant watchword? 'Excelsior'

--ah me--no! no longer 'Excelsior'; but he thought of the cells of Newgate, of convict prisons, and then of his young wife and of his baby.

He made an effort to a.s.sume his ordinary demeanour, and partially succeeded. He went at once up to his drawing-room, and there he found Charley and Gertrude waiting dinner for him; luckily he had no other guests.

'Are you ill, Alaric?' said Gertrude, directly she saw him.

'Ill! No,' said he; 'only f.a.gged, dearest; f.a.gged and worried, and badgered and bored; but, thank G.o.d, not ill;' and he endeavoured to put on his usual face, and speak in his usual tone. 'I have kept you waiting most unmercifully for your dinner, Charley; but then I know you navvies always lunch on mutton chops.'

'Oh, I am not particularly in a hurry,' said Charley; 'but I deny the lunch. This has been a bad season for mutton chops in the neighbourhood of Somerset House; somehow they have not grown this year.'

Alaric ran up to prepare for dinner, and his wife followed him.

'Oh! Alaric,' said she, 'you are so pale: what is the matter? Do tell me,' and she put her arm through his, took hold of his hand, and looked up into his face.

'The matter! Nothing is the matter--a man can't always be grinning;' and he gently shook her off, and walked through their bedroom to his own dressing-room. Having entered it he shut the door, and then, sitting down, bowed his head upon a small table and buried it in his hands. All the world seemed to go round and round with him; he was giddy, and he felt that he could not stand.

Gertrude paused a moment in the bedroom to consider, and then followed him. 'What is it you want?' said he, as soon as he heard the handle turn, 'do leave me alone for one moment. I am f.a.gged with the heat, and I want one minute's rest.'

'Oh, Alaric, I see you are ill,' said she. 'For G.o.d's sake do not send me from you,' and coming into the room she knelt down beside his chair. 'I know you are suffering, Alaric; do let me do something for you.'

He longed to tell her everything. He panted to share his sorrows with one other bosom; to have one near him to whom he could speak openly of everything, to have one counsellor in his trouble. In that moment he all but resolved to disclose everything to her, but at last he found that he could not do it. Charley was there waiting for his dinner; and were he now to tell his secret to his wife, neither of them, neither he nor she, would be able to act the host or hostess. If done at all, it could not at any rate be done at the present moment.

'I am better now,' said he, giving a long and deep sigh; and then he threw his arms round his wife and pa.s.sionately embraced her.

'My own angel, my best, best love, how much too good or much too n.o.ble you are for such a husband as I am!'

'I wish I could be good enough for you,' she replied, as she began to arrange his things for dressing. 'You are so tired, dearest; wash your hands and come down--don't trouble yourself to dress this evening; unless, indeed, you are going out again.'

'Gertrude,' said he, 'if there be a soul on earth that has not in it a spark of what is good or generous, it is the soul of Undy Scott;' and so saying he began the operations of his toilet.

Now Gertrude had never liked Undy Scott; she had attributed to him whatever faults her husband might have as a husband; and at the present moment she was not inclined to fight for any of the Scott family.

'He is a very worldly man, I think,' said she.

'Worldly!--no--but h.e.l.lish,' said Alaric; 'h.e.l.lish, and d.a.m.nable, and fiendish.'

'Oh, Alaric, what has he done?'

'Never mind; I cannot tell you; he has done nothing. It is not that he has done anything, or can do anything to me--but his heart--but never mind--I wish--I wish I had never seen him.'

'Alaric, if it be about money tell me the worst, and I'll bear it without a murmur. As long as you are well I care for nothing else--have you given up your place?'

'No, dearest, no; I can keep my place. It is nothing about that.

I have lost no money; I have rather made money. It is the ingrat.i.tude of that man which almost kills me. But come, dearest, we will go down to Charley. And Gertrude, mind this, be quite civil to Mrs. Val at present. We will break from the whole set before long; but in the meantime I would have you be very civil to Mrs. Val.'

And so they went down to dinner, and Alaric, after taking a gla.s.s of wine, played his part almost as though he had no weight upon his soul. After dinner he drank freely, and as he drank his courage rose. 'Why should I tell her?' he said to himself as he went to bed. 'The chances are that all will yet go well.'

CHAPTER x.x.xV

MRS. VAL'S NEW CARRIAGE

On the next morning Alaric went to his office without speaking further as to the trouble on his mind, and endeavoured to comfort himself as best he might as he walked down to his office. Then he had also to decide whether it would better suit his purpose to sell out at once and pay up every s.h.i.+lling that he could, or whether he would hold on, and hope that Undy's predictions would be fulfilled, and that the bridge shares would go on rising till they would sell for all that was required of him.

Unfortunate man! what would he have given now to change his position for Norman's single clerks.h.i.+p, or even for Charley's comparative poverty!

Gertrude stayed within all day; but not all day in solitude.

About four in the afternoon the Hon. Mrs. Val called, and with her came her daughter Clem, now Madame Jaquetanape, and the two Misses Neverbend. M. Jaquetanape had since his marriage made himself very agreeable to his honourable mother-in-law, so much so that he now occupied the place in her good graces which Undy had formerly filled, and which after Undy's reign had fallen to Alaric's lot. Mrs. Val liked to have about her some confidential gentleman; and as she never thought of placing her confidence in her husband, she was p.r.o.ne to select first one man and then another as her taste and interest dictated. Immediately after their marriage, Victoire and Clem had consented to join housekeeping with their parent. Nothing could be more pleasant than this; their income was unembarra.s.sed, and Mrs. Val, for the first time in her life, was able to set up her carriage. Among the effects arising from this cause, the female Neverbends, who had lately been wors.h.i.+ppers of Gertrude, veered round in their idolatry, and paid their vows before Mrs. Val's new yellow panels. In this new carriage now came the four ladies to pay a morning visit to Mrs. Tudor. It was wonderful to see into how small dimensions the Misses Neverbend had contrived to pack, not themselves, but their crinoline.

As has before been hinted, Gertrude did not love Mrs. Val; nor did she love Clem the danseuse; nor did she specially love the Misses Neverbend. They were all of a cla.s.s essentially different from that in which she had been brought up; and, moreover, Mrs.

Val was not content to allow Gertrude into her set without ruling over her, or at any rate patronizing her. Gertrude had borne with them all for her husband's sake; and was contented to do so yet for a while longer, but she thought in her heart that she would be able to draw some consolation from her husband's misfortune if it should be the means of freeing her from Mrs. Val.

'Oh, my dear,' said Mrs. Val, throwing herself down into a sofa as though she were exhausted--'what a dreadful journey it is to you up here! How those poor horses will stand it this weather I don't know, but it nearly kills me; it does indeed.' The Tudors, as has been said, lived in one of the quiet streets of Westbournia, not exactly looking into Hyde Park, but very near to it; Mrs. Val, on the other hand, lived in Ebury Street, Pimlico; her house was much inferior to that of the Tudors; it was small, ill built, and afflicted with all the evils which bad drainage and bad ventilation can produce; but then it was reckoned to be within the precincts of Belgravia, and was only five minutes' walk from Buckingham Palace. Mrs. Val, therefore, had fair ground for twitting her dear friend with living so far away from the limits of fas.h.i.+on. 'You really must come down somewhat nearer to the world; indeed you must, my dear,' said the Hon. Mrs. Val.