HOOK COURT.
Mr. Dobbs Broughton and Mr. Musselboro were sitting together on a
certain morning at their office in the City, discussing the affairs
of their joint business. The City office was a very poor place
indeed, in comparison with the fine house which Mr. Dobbs occupied at
the West End; but then City offices are poor places, and there are
certain City occupations which seem to enjoy the greater credit the
poorer are the material circumstances by which they are surrounded.
Turning out of a lane which turns out of Lombard Street, there is a
desolate, forlorn-looking, dark alley, which is called Hook Court.
The entrance to this alley is beneath the first-floor of one of the
houses in the lane, and in passing under this covered way the visitor
to the place finds himself in a small paved square court, at the two
further corners of which there are two open doors; for in Hook Court
there are only two houses. There is No. 1, Hook Court, and No. 2,
Hook Court. The entire premises indicated by No. 1, are occupied by a
firm of wine and spirit merchants, in connexion with whose trade one
side and two angles of the court are always lumbered with crates,
hampers, and wooden cases. And nearly in the middle of the court,
though somewhat more to the wine-merchants' side than to the other,
there is always gaping open a trap-door, leading down to vaults
below; and over the trap there is a great board with a bright
advertisement in very large letters:--
BURTON AND BANGLES.
HIMALAYA WINES,
22_s._ 6_d._ per dozen.
And this notice is so bright and so large, and the trap-door is
so conspicuous in the court, that no visitor, even to No. 2, ever
afterwards can quite divest his memory of those names, Burton and
Bangles, Himalaya wines. It may therefore be acknowledged that Burton
and Bangles have achieved their object in putting up the notice.
The house No. 2, small as it seems to be, standing in the jamb of a
corner, is divided among different occupiers, whose names are painted
in small letters upon the very dirty posts of the doorway. Nothing
can be more remarkable than the contrast between Burton and Bangles
and these other City gentlemen in the method taken by them in
declaring their presence to visitors in the court. The names of Dobbs
Broughton and of A. Musselboro,--the Christian name of Mr. Musselboro
was Augustus,--were on one of those dirty posts, not joined together
by any visible "and," so as to declare boldly that they were
partners; but in close vicinity,--showing at least that the two
gentlemen would be found in apartments very near to each other. And
on the first-floor of this house Dobbs Broughton and his friend did
occupy three rooms,--or rather two rooms and a closet--between them.
The larger and front room was tenanted by an old clerk, who sat
within a rail in one corner of it. And there was a broad, short
counter which jutted out from the wall into the middle of the room,
intended for the use of such of the public as might come to transact
miscellaneous business with Dobbs Broughton or Augustus Musselboro.
But any one accustomed to the look of offices might have seen
with half an eye that very little business was ever done on that
counter. Behind this large room was a smaller one, belonging to Dobbs
Broughton, in the furnishing and arrangement of which some regard had
been paid to comfort. The room was carpeted, and there was a sofa
in it, though a very old one, and two arm-chairs and a mahogany
office-table, and a cellaret, which was generally well supplied
with wine which Dobbs Broughton did not get out of the vaults of
his neighbours, Burton and Bangles. Behind this again, but with a
separate entrance from the passage, was the closet; and this closet
was specially devoted to the use of Mr. Musselboro. Closet as it
was,--or cupboard as it might almost have been called,--it contained
a table and two chairs; and it had a window of its own, which opened
out upon a blank wall which was distant from it not above four feet.
As the house to which this wall belonged was four stories high, it
would sometimes happen that Mr. Musselboro's cupboard was rather
dark. But this mattered the less as in these days Mr. Musselboro
seldom used it. Mr. Musselboro, who was very constant at his place of
business,--much more constant than his friend, Dobbs Broughton,--was
generally to be found in his friend's room. Only on some special
occasions, on which it was thought expedient that the commercial
world should be made to understand that Mr. Augustus Musselboro had
an individual existence of his own, did that gentleman really seat
himself in the dark closet. Mr. Dobbs Broughton, had he been asked
what was his trade, would have said that he was a stockbroker; and he
would have answered truly, for he was a stockbroker. A man may be a
stockbroker though he never sells any stock; as he may be a barrister
though he has no practice at the bar. I do not say that Mr. Broughton
never sold any stock; but the buying and selling of stock for other
people was certainly not his chief business. And had Mr. Musselboro
been asked what was his trade, he would have probably given an
evasive answer. At any rate in the City, and among people who
understood City matters, he would not have said that he was a
stockbroker. Both Mr. Broughton and Mr. Musselboro bought and sold
a good deal, but it was chiefly on account. The shares which were
bought and sold very generally did not pass from hand to hand;
but the difference in the price of the shares did do so. And then
they had another little business between them. They lent money on
interest. And in this business there was a third partner, whose name
did not appear on the dirty door-post. That third partner was Mrs.
Van Siever, the mother of Clara Van Siever whom Mr. Conway Dalrymple
intended to portray as Jael driving a nail into Sisera's head.
On a certain morning Mr. Broughton and Mr. Musselboro were sitting
together in the office which has been described. They were in Mr.
Broughton's room, and occupied each an arm-chair on the different
sides of the fire. Mr. Musselboro was sitting close to the table, on
which a ledger was open before him, and he had a pen and ink before
him, as though he had been at work. Dobbs Broughton had a small
betting-book in his hand, and was seated with his feet up against the
side of the fireplace. Both men wore their hats, and the aspect of
the room was not the aspect of a place of business. They had been
silent for some minutes when Broughton took his cigar-case out of his
pocket, and nibbled off the end of a cigar, preparatory to lighting
it.
"You had better not smoke here this morning, Dobbs," said Musselboro.
"Why shouldn't I smoke in my own room?"
"Because she'll be here just now."
"What do I care? If you think I'm going to be afraid of Mother Van,
you're mistaken. Let come what may, I'm not going to live under her
thumb." So he lighted his cigar.
"All right," said Musselboro, and he took up his pen and went to work
at his book.
"What is she coming here for this morning?" asked Broughton.
"To look after her money. What should she come for?"
"She gets her interest. I don't suppose there's better paid money in
the City."
"She hasn't got what was coming to her at Christmas yet."
"And this is February. What would she have? She had better put her
dirty money into the three per cents., if she is frightened at having
to wait a week or two."
"Can she have it to-day?"
"What, the whole of it? Of course she can't. You know that as well as
I do. She can have four hundred pounds, if she wants it. But seeing
all she gets out of the concern, she has no right to press for it in
that way. She is the ---- old usurer I ever came across in my life."
"Of course she likes her money."
"Likes her money! By George she does; her own and anybody else's that
she can get hold of. For a downright leech, recommend me always to a
woman. When a woman does go in for it, she is much more thorough than
any man." Then Broughton turned over the little pages of his book,
and Musselboro pondered over the big pages of his book, and there was
silence for a quarter of an hour.
"There's something about nine hundred and fifteen pounds due to her,"
said Musselboro.
"I daresay there is."
"It would be a very good thing to let her have it if you've got it.
The whole of it this morning, I mean."
"If! yes, if!" said Broughton.
"I know there's more than that at the bank."
"And I'm to draw out every shilling that there is! I'll see Mother
Van--further first. She can have £500 if she likes it,--and the
rest in a fortnight. Or she can have my note-of-hand for it all at
fourteen days."
"She won't like that at all," said Musselboro.
"Then she must lump it. I'm not going to bother myself about her.
I've pretty nearly as much money in it as she has, and we're in a
boat together. If she comes here bothering, you'd better tell her
so."
"You'll see her yourself?"
"Not unless she comes within the next ten minutes. I must go down to
the court. I said I'd be there by twelve. I've got somebody I want to
see."
"I'd stay if I were you."
"Why should I stay for her? If she thinks that I'm going to make
myself her clerk, she's mistaken. It may be all very well for you,
Mussy, but it won't do for me. I'm not dependent on her, and I don't
want to marry her daughter."
"It will simply end in her demanding to have her money back again."
"And how will she get it?" said Dobbs Broughton. "I haven't a doubt
in life but she'd take it to-morrow if she could put her hands upon
it. And then, after a bit, when she began to find that she didn't
like four per cent., she'd bring it back again. But nobody can do
business after such a fashion as that. For the last three years she's
drawn close upon two thousand a year for less than eighteen thousand
pounds. When a woman wants to do that, she can't have her money in
her pocket every Monday morning."
"But you've done better than that yourself, Dobbs."
"Of course I have. And who has made the connexion; and who has done
the work? I suppose she doesn't think that I'm to have all the sweat
and that she is to have all the profit."
"If you talk of work, Dobbs, it is I that have done the most of it."
This Mr. Musselboro said in a very serious voice, and with a look of
much reproach.
"And you've been paid for what you've done. Come, Mussy, you'd better
not turn against me. You'll never get your change out of that. Even
if you marry the daughter, that won't give you the mother's money.
She'll stick to every shilling of it till she dies; and she'd take
it with her then, if she knew how." Having said this, he got up from
his chair, put his little book into his pocket, and walked out of
the office. He pushed his way across the court, which was more than
ordinarily crowded with the implements of Burton and Bangles' trade,
and as he passed under the covered way he encountered at the entrance
an old woman getting out of a cab. The old woman was, of course,
Mother Van, as her partner, Mr. Dobbs Broughton, irreverently called
her. "Mrs. Van Siever, how d'ye do? Let me give you a hand. Fare from
South Kensington? I always give the fellows three shillings."
"You don't mean to tell me it's six miles!" And she tendered a florin
to the man.
"Can't take that, ma'am," said the cabman.
"Can't take it! But you must take it. Broughton, just get a
policeman, will you?" Dobbs Broughton satisfied the driver out of his
own pocket, and the cab was driven away. "What did you give him?"
said Mrs. Van Siever.
"Just another sixpence. There never is a policeman anywhere about
here."
"It'll be out of your own pocket, then," said Mrs. Van. "But you're
not going away?"
"I must be at Capel Court by half-past twelve;--I must, indeed. If it
wasn't real business, I'd stay."
"I told Musselboro I should be here."
"He's up there, and he knows all about the business just as well as
I do. When I found that I couldn't stay for you, I went through the
account with him, and it's all settled. Good morning. I'll see you at
the West End in a day or two." Then he made his way out into Lombard
Street, and Mrs. Van Siever picked her steps across the yard, and
mounted the stairs, and made her way into the room in which Mr.
Musselboro was sitting.
"Somebody's been smoking, Gus," she said, almost as soon as she had
entered the room.
"That's nothing new here," he replied, as he got up from his chair.
"There's no good being done when men sit and smoke over their work.
Is it you, or he, or both of you?"
"Well;--it was Broughton was smoking just now. I don't smoke of a
morning myself."
"What made him get up and run away when I came?"
"How can I tell, Mrs. Van Siever," said Musselboro, laughing. "If he
did run away when you came, I suppose it was because he didn't want
to see you."
"And why shouldn't he want to see me? Gus, I expect the truth from
you. How are things going on here?" To this question Mr. Musselboro
made no immediate answer; but tilted himself back in his chair and
took his hat off, and put his thumbs into the arm-holes of his
waistcoat, and looked his patroness full in the face. "Gus," she
said again, "I do expect the truth from you. How are things going on
here?"
"There'd be a good business,--if he'd only keep things together."
"But he's idle. Isn't he idle?"
"Confoundedly idle," said Musselboro.
"And he drinks;--don't he drink in the day?"
"Like the mischief,--some days. But that isn't the worst of it."
"And what is the worst of it?"
"Newmarket;--that's the rock he's going to pieces on."
"You don't mean to say he takes the money out of the business
for that?" And Mrs. Van Siever's face, as she asked the question,
expressed almost a tragic horror. "If I thought that I wouldn't give
him an hour's mercy."
"When a man bets he doesn't well know what money he uses. I can't say
that he takes money that is not his own. Situated as I am, I don't
know what is his own and what isn't. If your money was in my name I
could keep a hand on it;--but as it is not I can do nothing. I can
see that what is put out is put out fairly well; and when I think of
it, Mrs. Van Siever, it is quite wonderful that we've lost so little.
It has been next to nothing. That has been my doing;--and that's
about all that I can do."
"You must know whether he has used my money for his own purposes or
not."
"If you ask me, I think he has," said Mr. Musselboro.
"Then I'll go into it, and I'll find it out, and if it is so, as
sure as my name's Van Siever, I'll sew him up." Having uttered which
terrible threat, the old woman drew a chair to the table and seated
herself fairly down, as though she were determined to go through all
the books of the office before she quitted that room. Mrs. Van Siever
in her present habiliments was not a thing so terrible to look at as
she had been in her wiggeries at Mrs. Dobbs Broughton's dinner-table.
Her curls were laid aside altogether, and she wore simply a front
beneath her close bonnet,--and a very old front, too, which was not
loudly offensive because it told no lies. Her eyes were as bright,
and her little wizen face was as sharp, as ever; but the wizen face
and the bright eyes were not so much amiss as seen together with
the old dark brown silk dress which she now wore, as they had been
with the wiggeries and the evening finery. Even now, in her morning
costume, in her work-a-day business dress, as we may call it, she
looked to be very old,--so old that nobody could guess her age.
People attempting to guess would say that she must be at least over
eighty. And yet she was wiry, and strong, and nimble. It was not
because she was feeble that she was thought to be so old. They who so
judged of her were led to their opinion by the extreme thinness of
her face, and by the brightness of her eyes, joined to the depth of
the hollows in which they lay, and the red margin by which they were
surrounded. It was not really the fact that Mrs. Van Siever was so
very aged, for she had still some years to live before she would
reach eighty, but that she was such a weird old woman, so small, so
ghastly, and so ugly! "I'll sew him up, if he's been robbing me," she
said. "I will, indeed." And she stretched out her hand to grab at the
ledger which Musselboro had been using.
"You won't understand anything from that," said he, pushing the book
over to her.
"You can explain it to me."
"That's all straight sailing, that is."
"And where does he keep the figures that ain't straight sailing?
That's the book I want to see."
"There is no such book."
"Look here, Gus,--if I find you deceiving me I'll throw you overboard
as sure as I'm a living woman. I will indeed. I'll have no mercy.
I've stuck to you, and made a man of you, and I expect you to stick
to me."
"Not much of a man," said Musselboro, with a touch of scorn in his
voice.
"You've never had a shilling yet but what I gave you."
"Yes; I have. I've had what I've worked for,--and worked confounded
hard too."
"Look here, Musselboro; if you're going to throw me over, just tell
me so, and let us begin fair."
"I'm not going to throw you over. I've always been on the square with
you. Why don't you trust me out and out, and then I could do a deal
better for you. You ask me now about your money. I don't know about
your money, Mrs. Van Siever. How am I to know anything about your
money, Mrs. Van Siever? You don't give me any power of keeping a
hand upon Dobbs Broughton. I suppose you have security from Dobbs
Broughton, but I don't know what security you have, Mrs. Van Siever.
He owes you now £915 16_s._ 2_d._ on last year's account!"
"Why doesn't he give me a cheque for the money?"
"He says he can't spare it. You may have £500, and the rest when he
can give it you. Or he'll give you his note-of-hand at fourteen days
for the whole."
"Bother his note-of-hand. Why should I take his note-of-hand?"
"Do as you like, Mrs. Van Siever."
"It's the interest on my own money. Why don't he give it me? I
suppose he has had it."
"You must ask him that, Mrs. Van Siever. You're in partnership with
him, and he can tell you. Nobody else knows anything about it. If you
were in partnership with me, then of course I could tell you. But
you're not. You've never trusted me, Mrs. Van Siever."
The lady remained there closeted with Mr. Musselboro for an hour
after that, and did, I think, at length learn something more as to
the details of her partner's business, than her faithful servant Mr.
Musselboro had at first found himself able to give to her. And at
last they came to friendly and confidential terms, in the midst
of which the personal welfare of Mr. Dobbs Broughton was, I fear,
somewhat forgotten. Not that Mr. Musselboro palpably and plainly
threw his friend overboard. He took his friend's part,--alleging
excuses for him, and pleading some facts. "Of course, you know, a man
like that is fond of pleasure, Mrs. Van Siever. He's been at it more
or less all his life. I don't suppose he ever missed a Derby or an
Oaks, or the cup at Ascot, or the Goodwood in his life." "He'll have
to miss them before long, I'm thinking," said Mrs. Van Siever. "And
as to not cashing up, you must remember, Mrs. Van Siever, that ten
per cent. won't come in quite as regularly as four or five. When you
go for high interest, there must be hitches here and there. There
must, indeed, Mrs. Van Siever." "I know all about it," said Mrs. Van
Siever. "If he gave it me as soon as he got it himself, I shouldn't
complain. Never mind. He's only got to give me my little bit of money
out of the business, and then he and I will be all square. You come
and see Clara this evening, Gus."
Then Mr. Musselboro put Mrs. Van Siever into another cab, and
went out upon 'Change,--hanging about the Bank, and standing in
Threadneedle Street, talking to other men just like himself. When he
saw Dobbs Broughton he told that gentleman that Mrs. Van Siever had
been in her tantrums, but that he had managed to pacify her before
she left Hook Court. "I'm to take her the cheque for the five hundred
to-night," he said.