PHILLIP PROGRESSES IN LOVE—HIS FURTHER SCHEMING.
While Charley Warbeck is receiving the last visits of a very few
friends, prior to his journey from London to the State Prison, Mr.
Phillip is in daily consultation with his legal advisers and his
father’s executors.
From a deep study of his accounts, those interested came to the
conclusion that Mr. Redgill deceased, was deeply involved in debt,
and far beyond what any one might have expected.
“Who’d a believed it?” said Mr. Sloman, the lawyer, in surprise, when
confidentially informed. “Who’d a thought that such a man as _he_
was should be so much involved? Well, I’ve had _some_ experience in
worldly matters, but I never could have believed him to be so much
in debt; no, not if an angel from heaven had warned me. What! old
Redgill to be insolvent? I _can’t_ believe it!”
Mr. Moss, who, as we know, was deeply interested, confessed that “his
worst fears had been realised.”
He always supposed that the old gentlemen had been speculating too
extensively.
“He owes me £50,000, with interest, on various notes,” said the Jew.
“If his ships arrive safely, then I am safe, although there will be a
very little margin left for Master Phillip when the other debts are
paid. Let us hope, Mr. Sloman, that the ships _will_ arrive safe, or
else—I don’t mind confessing it to you, you know, Mr. Sloman—I am a
ruined man.”
By some mysterious means old Sir Andrew had obtained an inkling of
the true state of affairs, and when Phillip paid his usual evening
visit to his fair daughter Fanny, who was always elaborately dressed,
and in waiting for her husband-lover, the old gentleman’s manner
materially changed.
Nor did he smile so benignly and fatherly upon the young man as was
his wont.
“You must not give too much encouragement to young Redgill, Fanny,”
said Sir Andrew, with much solemnity, on one occasion, while walking
the room in a perturbed state of mind, “for it might turn out that he
isn’t worth one penny.”
His daughter only smiled at her father’s fears, and when her husband
lover came she received him in the drawing-room with more marked
tokens of attachment than ever, with this difference, that the fond
parent did not retire so far into the back drawing-room as of yore,
but remained within earshot of all that transpired between the young
people.
“Love laughs at locks,” it is said.
And so it happened with Phillip and his young wife.
They spoke in enigmas, and passed an hour or two each evening as
happily as if the old folks were miles distant.
In truth, Miss Fanny’s evening walks became more frequent since her
flying visit with Phillip to the country, so that man and wife often
met clandestinely, unknown to her parents, and their invariable
success in eluding her natural guardians often caused much merriment
and satisfaction between Fanny and Phillip.
On one occasion the footman informed Phillip that Sir Andrew desired
to see him in the library.
The old gentleman’s demeanour was so solemn and forbidding as he
entered the apartment that Phillip imagined his marriage had become
known to him.
“Mr. Redgill, is it true what I’ve heard, sir, that your very worthy
parent died insolvent? Really, sir, I cannot believe it, but such are
the rumours, and painful ones they are. Of course, you are aware,
sir, that I allowed you to visit my daughter supposing you to be a
member of society, who, in the event of marriage—an event, I know,
happily yet far distant, and farthest from the thoughts of both—would
be able to keep her in the style to which she has hitherto been
used all her life. Of _course_, I could not think for one moment of
allowing a _penniless_ young man to make any serious advances towards
one of mine.”
Phillip scouted the idea that his father had died insolvent, and
re-assured Sir Andrew.
“For,” said he, “if my father really _does_ stand insolvent, as his
books might seem, and as rumours would have it, you are, of course,
aware that his ships, when they arrive, would fully liquidate all
claims of his creditors, and leave a very handsome surplus. In fact,
you are aware, sir, that commercial communities think so highly of
his transactions that even the insurance company, of which you are
the president and greatest shareholder, have insured them for not
less than £500,000.”
This latter argument was potent, and fully re-assured the misgivings
of old Sir Andrew, who ordered in wine, and explained many matters to
the young man of which he was not before fully aware.
Among the items of information thus gleaned in confidential
conversation, after drinking much wine, it appeared that Sir Andrew’s
insurance company was not so responsible and respectable as its
“advertised” capital would lead the reading public to believe; for,
in truth, Sir Andrew confessed, that should any serious loss fall
upon it he could not honestly meet it, and that it might occasion a
sudden collapse of the whole concern.
“Not that _I_ should suffer so materially,” added Sir Andrew, with
a knowing wink, “for I have all my private funds deposited with the
‘South Sea Bank’ unknown to any one, and in another party’s name, so
that whatever might befall the insurance company I am all right and
safe from personal danger.”
A few days subsequent to this conversation the executors returned a
balance sheet, illustrative of the deceased Mr. Redgill’s affairs.
And it appeared, to the astonishment of every one, except those
in the secret, that the late much-respected merchant really was
insolvent, and owed his creditors much more than any would ever have
anticipated.
If the “Racehorse” and “Eclipse” should arrive all claims could
be satisfactorily adjusted; even if the ships were lost, and the
insurance paid, this end might be accomplished; but without it the
liabilities stood £200,000 beyond all assets, the chief debtor being
the Jew Moss, for not less a sum than £50,000!
When the worthy executors had arrived at these unpleasant
conclusions, and revealed them confidentially and unofficially to the
gay young Phillip, he bit his nails in anger, drank off his brandy
very copiously, cursed his father in a volley of bitter oaths, and
in his fury burned the picture of the deceased, which hung over the
mantle in the library.
Yet, fully alive to the consequences which any such disclosure of
affairs might have upon his own worldly prospect, he called “a
council of war,” and beseeched the worthy executors to make no
disclosures for the present.
“Not for my sake, gentlemen,” he said, with much warmth and emphasis,
“but for the sake of the reputation of my worthy and much-loved
father. I have no mother, nor kindred of any kind, except Sir Richard
Warbeck, and therefore show my disinterestedness in its true colours.
All I desire is to save my father’s reputation in the community
where he has lived and been respected for at least half a century;
therefore I beg, gentlemen, that you will say nothing of this for
the present. When the ships arrive there will be enough, and more
than enough, to liquidate every claim, and thus preserve the honour
of my family. As to myself, I care not a jot if there is not a penny
remaining over and above all his just and honest debts; all I desire
to see is that every creditor may be satisfied, even if I, his only
son, go forth on the world penniless and in rags!”
Such sentiments were much applauded by the executors, who thought it
might be wise to say nothing until the arrival of these vessels.
By some means, unknown to himself, Phillip discovered that old Sir
Andrew had become aware of the true state of things.
But the young man argued so well that the insurance office director
was comforted.
“These reports you have heard, Sir Andrew, are untrue,” said young
Redgill, with much warmth and emphasis, “circulated, doubtless, by
some unknown enemy, who, knowing my ardent love for Fanny, has sought
this method to poison your mind against me; not that money could
influence you in such an attachment as that which has always existed
between myself and your daughter, for you are fully aware how ardent
my love is, and how long it has existed, and I am positive you are
too high-toned a gentleman to allow mere considerations of money to
interpose between your daughter’s happiness and mine, for if I knew
this moment that Fanny was not possessed of one copper it could never
alter my attachment. I love her for herself, and expect nothing with
her, and I am certain you would never object to me on any financial
consideration.”
Old Sir Andrew, in the largeness and generosity of his hypocritical
heart, confessed that _money_—“mere paltry lucre”—had _never_ entered
his thoughts regarding the apportionment of his daughter and her
settlement in life.
“For, although I am rich, and beyond all want,” said he, “I should
not object to my daughter marrying the poorest youth in the country,
provided he was honest, sober, industrious, of good family, and
talented. No, indeed! money is farthest from my thoughts; yet,
_still_, I should, of course, like to see Fanny fairly matched with
her intended husband in that regard, and would rather see her marry a
rich than a poor man—for money, after all, Mr. Redgill, is not to be
despised.”
For the third time Phillip had quieted Sir Andrew’s misgivings, and
he visited Fanny, his wife, as before, regularly every evening;
but, after profound consideration, the young couple decided not to
disclose their _true_ relationship for a week or two.
The “Racehorse” and “Eclipse” were frequently reported by
fast-sailing ships to be on their way, “all well.”
In truth, the captains of both vessels had written letters, stating
how successfully their voyage had progressed, and what valuable
cargoes they were bringing.
The last letters were dated from Land’s End, where they had put in on
account of wild and dangerous weather, and the captains said that but
a few days would elapse ere they would be reported by the telegraph
station at Holyhead or Gravesend.
The insurance-office of which Sir Andrew was president was
particularly pleased at this information.
Sir Andrew was jubilant and in ecstasies.
“I must manage to get rid of this young Phillip,” thought he. “_I_
know the state of his father’s affairs much better than he supposes.
Ha! ha! he can’t blindfold _me_! _I_ know a thing or two! Men on
’Change, as I am daily, hear many very curious things within a few
hours.
“When the cargoes of these vessels are sold, and old Redgill’s debts
are paid, there will not be much to spare, particularly when he pays
me the fifteen thousand pounds he already owes me.
“He wants to marry my daughter, does he?
“What a smart youth he is, to be sure!
“As if _I_ didn’t see his nice little game!
“No, no, Mr. Phillip—_my_ daughter is destined for a _richer_ man
than you are!
“’Tis true, she likes him, and all that; but what’s _that_ to do with
it?
“Lord! she’ll soon get over all childishness when she learns the true
state of things.
“I’m mighty glad, though, that those two vessels are perfectly safe;
if they were lost, it would be a very serious thing for _me_, and no
mistake.
“Never mind, I must take care not to take so heavy a risk next time,
and then it will save an immense amount of anxiety.
“Heigho! well, this is a curious world. I will dismiss Phillip, and
take Fanny to the continent out of the way. We’ll have a gay time
there, and she’ll soon forget that young schemer, Phillip.
“I wish those vessels were arrived, the cargoes sold, and my money
paid in, and then—”
“Letter, sir,” said the servant, handing in a note, and retiring.
Being in the daily receipt of letters and messages about ships and
the like, old Sir Andrew paid little attention to the present one;
but, observing that “Ship news—immediate,” was on the envelope, he
opened it, and read:—
To Sir Andrew McTurk,
President of the London Insurance Company.
SIR,—The captains and part of the crews of the China ships
“Eclipse” and “Racehorse” have just landed at Hollyhead, and report
the total loss of their respective ships, which were attacked and
stranded, robbed and burnt by the famous Skeleton Crew off the
Land’s End a week since. Nothing could withstand Death-wing and his
band. The crew had scarcely time to get to the boats ere the ships
struck the rocks, and were instantly smashed into pieces.
Yours truly,
CAPTAIN BROWN,
King’s cruiser “Seagull.”
If a twenty pound keg of gunpowder had exploded beneath Sir Andrew’s
easy chair he could not have risen from his seat more suddenly than
he did when he read that letter.
He seemed to have jumped into the middle of the floor.
And there he stood gazing at the round table, as if he saw thereon a
nest of vipers.
“Gone!” said he, with an affrighted look, pulling his hair about,
with eyes distended and open mouth.
“Gone! lost! _Both_ of ’em? Captured by those sea-fiends! It _can’t_
be!”
He read the fatal letter again, word by word, and then sank into his
seat with a spasmodic groan.
“Ruined!” he muttered mournfully, and groaned again.