The history of the house of Bendibow & Son--or of Bendibow Brothers, as
it came to be called--was broadly the history of the eighteenth century
in England. Persons who deal in money are apt to come into relation with
most of the prominent characters and events of their time, and Bendibow
Brothers dealt in that commodity very extensively. The thirty years
covered by the reign of George the Second was a picturesque and
brilliant period. Famous personages were to be met everywhere--in
London, Epsom, Bath, Tunbridge and Scarborough: York, too, was a
fashionable place in those days; Shrewsbury was full of merry-making,
and Newmarket attracted other people beside professed lovers of the
turf. Congreve was living out the last years of his life, and Mrs.
Bracegirdle was still acting his plays, when the second representative
of the Brunswick line came to the throne. Addison had died a few years
previously, Steele a year or two afterward; Pope, Swift, Fielding and
Defoe were all in full cry and condition. Lord Bathurst was in
mid-career as patron of literary celebrities, and the fascinating and
romantic Earl of Peterborough was losing his heart to the sweet voice
and face of Anastasia Robinson. Hogarth and Kneller were in existence,
and Arbuthnot was witty and wise. Handsome Tom Grantley, destined to
become one of the foremost men of fashion and intrigue of his time, was
in 1732 a little squalling baby in the south of Ireland. George the
First had created the earldom of Seabridge upward of fifteen years
before, in consequence of assistance rendered to him by the then head
of the family during the Rebellion; and it was at about the same date
that Mary Lancaster, niece of Lord Croftus, first saw the light--she who
was afterward to unite the two families by her marriage with the second
Earl of Seabridge. Meanwhile Mary Bellenden was esteemed the loveliest,
and Mary Wortley Montague the cleverest of living women. As time went
on, and the century approached its middle age, Garrick began to act in
London; Beau Nash, superb, autocratic and imperturbable, ruled the roast
at Bath; Horace Walpole embroidered society with the brilliance of his
affected and sentimental persiflage; Smollet hobnobbed with Quin, and
the Great Commoner stalked about, glaring out appallingly from the
jungle of his shaggy wig. Amusement was the religion of the age, and
recklessness was its morality. It was the apotheosis of card playing;
literature was not good form; cards and men formed the library of the
Duchess of Marlborough. What are now termed the mental resources of
civilization, being as yet unknown, life was so conducted as to become a
constant variety and succession of condiments. Criminals were made to
minister to the general entertainment by being drawn and quartered, as
well as beheaded and hanged; gentlemen pistoled and skewered one another
instead of being contented with calling each other names, and sueing for
damages and defamation. Tempers were hot, hearts were bold, and
conversation was loose on all sides. Wine was cheap, tea was dear,
gluttony and drunkenness were anything but improper. The country folks
were no less energetic on their own scale. They romped and shouted at
village fairs and wakes; they belabored one another scientifically with
cudgels; half-naked women ran races and jumped hurdles; Maypoles were
hoisted on every green; and the disaffected rode out on the king’s
highway with masks and pistols. Love-making, with persons of condition
at least, was a matter less of hearts than of fortunes and phases: it
was etiquette for everybody in small clothes to languish at the feet of
everybody in petticoats. The externals of life were sumptuous and
splendid, because no time and trouble were wasted upon internals. An
element of savagery and brutality pervaded all classes, high and low,
without which the game could not have been kept up with such unflagging
plausibility and zeal.
But all this fun had to be fed with money, or at all events with credit;
and Bendibow Brothers were always prepared, on proper security, to
furnish either; wherefore a great portion of this gorgeous procession
passed through their dingy office in the city, on its way to or from its
debaucheries. And since the brethren (following the injunctions of their
long-headed founder) aimed no less at social distinction than at the
wealth which should render that distinction profitable, they frequently
saw their way to accept, from certain of their customers, interest
payable otherwise than in hard cash. An introduction to Lord Croftus’s
drawing-room, for example, might be cheaply purchased for an advance of
a thousand pounds; a sinecure post in the army for a junior member of
the firm, or a foreign order for the senior, would be worth three or
four times as much; while, for the hand of a daughter of the junior
branch of a titled family, twenty or thirty thousand pounds down would
be considered a profitable transaction. Worldly wisdom and foresight, in
short, formed as important a part of the Bendibow policy as direct and
literal pecuniary returns. Indeed, it was upon the profit of their
innumerable small transactions that they relied for the bulk of their
material wealth: with the great and haughty their dealings were
uniformly liberal and dignified. The consequence was, that when the
Jacobite rebellion broke out, the Government accepted a substantial loan
from Bendibow Brothers, as being not only the richest but the most
loyal and respectable firm of bankers in England. Mr. Joseph Bendibow,
one of the partners, was, for some unexplained reason, “promoted” to the
rank of colonel in the regular army; and five years later the head of
the family was raised to the baronetage. Hereupon a constituency was
purchased at a not too exorbitant rate, and--the Bendibows having long
since abandoned their Jewish proclivities, and presented themselves to
the world as immaculate Protestant Christians--for the remainder of
their career the descendants of the obscure Hebrew goldsmith and
money-lender were numbered among the law-givers of their country and
trusty advisers of the Crown.
It was an honorable position, patiently tried for and cleverly won. None
of the Bendibows, since the time of Abraham, their progenitor, had been
in any sense men of genius; but, on the other hand, none of them had
been destitute of common sense, prudence, steadiness, suppleness, and
persistency; and they had also possessed--what perhaps was of more value
to them than any of their native virtues--a private family bible, in the
shape of the book of rules, written and bequeathed to them by the
patriarch above mentioned. It would be interesting, and possibly
edifying, to review the contents of this work. No doubt it was brimming
over with human astuteness; and might be described as a translation into
eighteenth-century ideas and language of the mystic injunctions of the
old alchemists in reference to the Philosopher’s Stone. Be that as it
may, the book went far toward achieving the end for which it was
composed; and if the Bendibows were as yet not quite a hundredfold
millionaires and peers of the realm, they seemed fairly on their way to
be so. To that consummation the brethren themselves looked forward with
justifiable confidence. Nevertheless, looking at their whole history
from the vantage-ground of our own century, we can see that the
accession of George the Third was the period of their actual apogee.
It was about that time that Francis Bendibow was born--he whose genius
almost equaled that of Abraham, and who, indeed, carried the reputation
of the bank to a point higher than any which it had before attained. But
reputation does not always, nor in the long run, mean prosperity; and
Sir Francis Bendibow, along with his genius, perhaps possessed some
qualities which, under pressure of circumstances, were capable of doing
mischief. But that shall be enlarged upon in its proper place.
Society was now becoming more intellectual, more civilized, and more
depraved. That abstruse idea, which is covered by the phrase “Fine
Gentleman,” now received its most complete embodiment. It was a
patrician era, but also an era in which genius, of whatever kind, could
force men and women from obscurity to the light. The youthful Sheridan
was making a good impression at Bath by his fine figure, hearty face,
and manly and unaffected bearing, even before the “Rivals” and the
“School for Scandal” had been written; and he and his fellow-countryman,
Tom Grantley--though the latter was more than fifteen years his
senior--were on the most cordial terms; and it was said at the time that
Grantley was of assistance to Sheridan in that gentleman’s elopement
with the beautiful Miss Linley. Fox, with others of his kidney, were
setting the fashion of colossal gambling as a means of working off their
superfluous nervous vitality and the estates of their ancestors;
Whattier’s and White’s, Brookes’s and Raffett’s saw such sights as will
never come again; statesmen and macaronis, parsons and opera-dancers,
soldiers and play-writers, fine ladies and fine females, all, according
to their several natures and capacities, took the most serious interest
in cock-fighting, rat-hunting, singing and dancing, betting, dicing,
antique statues and old pictures, divorce and atheism. But, as the
century culminated, war, and the armies which fought it, overtopped all
other interests; political opinions, or professions of opinion, were at
the acme of vehemence; furious pamphlets fluttered on all sides; Dibdin
wrote songs to encourage Nelson’s sailors; Wilkes was synonymous with
liberty; and King George, believing himself the father of his people,
spent his long life in doing them all the harm in his power. And all
this, too, required money, and more money than ever; and Bendibow
Brothers were more than ever mixed up in it--more, indeed, than was at
that time suspected; for Francis Bendibow had begun to show what was in
him; and his suggestions and enterprises had begun first to astound,
then to dazzle and fascinate his more methodical and humdrum partners,
until it seemed likely that he might take upon himself to edit a new and
improved edition of the private family bible. In truth, he was a very
brilliant and popular gentleman, whom everybody knew, and whom nobody
who was anybody disliked. He was the confidant of as many social secrets
as a fashionable physician or lawyer, and knew more about political
intrigues than any other man out of the Cabinet. It was a marvel how
well, considering the weight of his multifarious responsibilities, he
managed to preserve his aspect of gayety and good nature. But it often
happens that precisely those persons who have most to conceal, and who
deal most in mysteries, appear, in the careless eyes of their
contemporaries, more frank and undisguised than anybody else. Sir
Francis Bendibow, be it repeated, was a general favorite of society, as
well as a special favorite of fortune; and somewhere about 1790 he
confirmed his successes by allying himself with the Barons Croftus by
marriage with a daughter of the then lord.
From that time forward the affairs of Bendibow Brothers went on with
much ostensible smoothness and good fortune, though whether anything
less serene and comfortable lay hidden beneath this fair surface, is a
question the answer to which must for the moment be reserved. One or
two events only need to be mentioned, in order to bring us down to the
epoch at which this story properly begins. Tom Grantley, who throughout
his career had always been an ample customer of the Bendibows, and who,
like so many others, had insensibly allowed his business relations with
them to develop into social intercourse, had, in 1771, placed his son
Charles, then a boy of fifteen, in the bank in the capacity of clerk,
with the understanding that he was afterward to be admitted to
partnership, should he turn out to be qualified for that position. This
was a good thing for Charles, in a pecuniary point of view, and his
abilities, which were always remarkable, made it likely that his career
would be a successful one. As for the social aspects of the affair, the
Bendibows were perhaps greater gainers than Grantley, since Charles had
the noble Seabridge blood in his veins. But Charles’ father, though
aristocratic and imperious enough in his own practice, was theoretically
liberal and even republican in his views; and possibly he was not sorry
to requite the neglect which his wife’s family had shown him by
embarking the grandson of the earl in a mercantile life. Charles, for
his own part, was actually what his father was only in idea; that is to
say, he sympathized with the enlightened and revolutionary spirit that
was abroad, and which was taking palpable form in the American colonies
and in France. He rebelled against the claims of caste, and, before he
was twenty-one, was pretty well known as a social reformer and radical.
This, of itself, would not have impaired the social popularity of one
who could call an earl his kinsman; not only because extreme opinions
were in those days considered rather interesting and amusing than
otherwise, but because then, as at all times, a man may be or say
anything he pleases, provided he will be or say it in a sufficiently
graceful or skillful manner. But Charles, unfortunately, was as abrupt,
unconciliating and dogmatic in his manner as he was startling and
unconventional in his views. He was not only able to utter disagreeable
and embarrassing truths at inconvenient moments, but he seemed actually
fond of doing so; and, since he was not more prepossessing in person
than adroit in behavior, society for the most part ended by giving him
up as a bad job. “Charles would be very well, if he wasn’t so damned
sincere,” was one of the least uncharitable judgments that those who
were willing to be his friends pronounced upon him. Charles meanwhile
seemed to take the situation very composedly. The social intercourse
which was not to be had in fashionable drawing-rooms and coffee-houses
he sought and found elsewhere--among literary men, perhaps, or others
still lower in the social scale. In his chosen circle--whatever it
was--he was eminent and influential. Every one respected him; many
feared him a little; a few liked him heartily, or even loved him. He was
of a fiery, warlike temperament, and nothing could daunt him or
dishearten him. He was proud and sensitive beyond what seemed
reasonable; but those who knew him well said he was full of tenderness
and generosity, and that a more affectionate and self-sacrificing man
never lived. Perhaps neither his friends nor his foes entirely
understood him. One thing about him, at all events, no one understood,
and that was how he and Francis Bendibow came to be such friends. The
two young men were, it is true, nearly of the same age; their business
interests were identical; and much of their time must of necessity be
passed in each other’s neighborhood. But no amount of external
association together will of itself suffice to make new friends: it is
quite as apt to have an opposite effect. It was plain to the most
careless glance that Charles and Francis were in disposition and
temperament as wide asunder as the poles: and--the affairs of the bank
aside--Francis was devoted to all those objects and interests for which
Charles cared nothing, or less. Nevertheless, there was the fact,
account for it how you will. Charles was devoted to Francis; resented
any disparagement of him; and did, upon occasion, even go so far as to
espouse the side of his friend in argument against the side of which he
himself was the representative--for Francis’ logic was sometimes faulty,
and his faculty of seeing all the best points in his own cause was not
always infallible. Whether Francis’ friendship for Charles was quite so
ardent and thorough as Charles’ for him may be doubted. Men who are
universally friendly and popular seldom rise to the height of a vehement
individual preference. But there is little doubt that he was impressed
by Charles’ affection, that he reciprocated it as far as in him lay, and
that, although he was wont to affect a good-humored air of patronizing
his friend, chaffing him, and laughing at the intensity and seriousness
of his convictions, he in reality deferred to Charles’ judgment and
recognized his personal force and capacity. “We could never get on
without old Charles,” was a saying often in his mouth. And when Charles
fell in love with Francis’ sister, Ruth Bendibow, Francis was a hearty
supporter of the match. The marriage took place when Charles was in his
thirty-first year--Tom Grantley having died upward of ten years before.
The following year a daughter was born, and her name was called Perdita.
When Perdita was about six years old, a mysterious calamity occurred.
Society wondered, guessed, and speculated, but never found out the whole
truth of the affair. All that was certain was, that Charles Grantley
suddenly disappeared from London, leaving his wife and daughter behind
him. There was a rumor that he had also left behind him a letter,
addressed to Sir Francis Bendibow, begging him to look after the welfare
of his family, whom he could not ask to share with him his exile and
disgrace. What, then, was this disgrace? Sir Francis, when interrogated
on the subject, preserved a melancholy and dignified silence. It was
surmised that he would not accuse his friend, and he could not defend
him. But had Charles Grantley, whom all the world had taken to be at
least the soul of honesty and honor--could he have been guilty of a
dishonest or dishonorable action? Well, human nature is weak, and the
best and strongest of men have their unaccountable moments of frailty.
Grantley, no doubt, had been exposed to temptation. He had for some time
past been admitted a full partner in the firm; and it was known that he
had latterly been building and furnishing an expensive house. Moreover,
he was believed to be a member of more than one secret society; and he
had perhaps been induced or compelled to advance large contributions
toward their support. The coffers of the bank were open to him.... Why
rehearse again a story so often told? Enough that Charles Grantley
vanished from the world that knew him, and that no news ever came to
tell whither he had gone. It was only charitable to suppose that he did
not long survive the disgrace into which he had plunged himself.
His wife died some years after his disappearance; not of a broken
heart--for she had never cherished any very vital affection for her
husband, and always seemed angry rather than grieved at the
calamity--but from an acute attack of bilious fever. She was a beautiful
and talented woman, but probably was not without certain blemishes of
head or heart. Perdita was thus left--so far as could be known--an
orphan. Sir Francis Bendibow, amidst general applause, formally adopted
her. Certainly, to accept as your own the daughter of the man who has
defrauded you, especially when that man happens to be your
brother-in-law, shows a rare magnanimity. Perdita was brought up as
befitted a young lady liable to hold a good position in society. For
obvious reasons she was allowed to forget her unhappy father, and
encouraged to regard herself as the actual offspring of her benevolent
guardian. The girl throve passing well--more than fulfilling her early
promise of beauty and grace. She, moreover, gave signs of possessing a
strongly-marked character, hard, subtle and persistent; but, as the
crudity of girlhood passed away, those harsher lineaments ceased to
obtrude themselves--the young lady’s own sense of harmony doubtless
prompting her to disguise them beneath a soft and seductive exterior;
and she was by nature luxurious, and had the instinct of equipping
herself cap-a-pie from the mystic arsenal of voluptuous artifice to
which only such women have the key. Her debut in society was very
effective, and she took all the other women’s admirers away from them.
But her own heart seemed to remain unimpaired; and, on the other hand,
there was a lack of really desirable offers of marriage; for it was
thought, not unreasonably, that Perdita ought to make a great match--say
an earl at the least. But the earls hung back; perhaps it was the still
lingering shadow of her unfortunate parent that disqualified her. Here,
however, fortune who, save for that one ill turn, was in love with
Perdita almost to the end of her career, brought into the field an
elderly and extremely wealthy foreign personage, who succumbed to the
young lady’s fascinations at their first interview, made her an offer of
his cordial and worldly effects on the following week, and was made the
happiest of men in making her his wife by the end of the month. Perdita,
for some unexplained reason, received little more than a bare outfit
from her affectionate uncle and foster-father; but there were
unexceptionable settlements on the part of her husband; and she
accompanied the latter to the continent with _éclat_ and a brilliant
future before her--being still in her nineteenth year, while her husband
was at least sixty, with an impaired constitution. Whether the issue of
the affair was as prosperous as it bade fair to be Sir Francis Bendibow
was not informed; for his adopted daughter had never since her departure
troubled him with any letters or messages. For all he knew, she might be
in the New World, or even in the next. The worthy baronet consoled
himself for this neglect as best he might by lavishing attention upon
the rearing and education of his only bona-fide child, a sickly and
rather unpromising son. The result of the education was, that the young
gentleman was allowed pretty much his own way; and, like other men
before him who have steered in the same direction, he arrived at nothing
particularly edifying. Sir Francis spoilt him, in short; and the youth
was not one of those who can stand much spoiling. He could fight a cock,
throw a main, hunt a rat, drive a horse, and upon occasion--as we have
seen--could upset a coach. Perhaps, when the time came, he would be able
to carry on the business of the great house of Bendibow Brothers; but it
must be confessed that just at present probabilities looked the other
way. It was not merely that young Mr. Thomas Bendibow had no practical
knowledge of business; but that he had no brothers, nor even any
cousins; that he was in fact the last of his family; and looked, at
twenty, as if he hardly had pith in him to outlive his father, who was
sixty-two; so that good Sir Francis, sitting day after day in his little
private room at the rear of the banking premises, may be supposed to
have found some elements of concern and anxiety mingling with the
general complacency of his reflections. Surely he did not deserve to be
the prey of such solicitude. He had long since forgotten the follies and
vanities of his golden youth, and had settled down to be one of the
handsomest, kindliest, courtliest, most immaculate elderly baronets
imaginable.