IN ST. CLEMENT'S LANE.
It was the early dusk of a dull November day--a day in which there
had not been even twilight in London--such days as are only to be
seen there and in Archangel--when one of those awful black fogs
prevail, when gas is lighted everywhere, when all wheel traffic is
suspended, when cabs, 'buses, and drays cease to run, and sounds
become curiously deadened or muffled.
Lord Cadbury, from narrow Lombard Street, turned into that narrower
alley which lies between it and King William Street called St.
Clement's Lane, from the ancient church dedicated to that saint some
time prior to 1309, and for the rebuilding of which, after the great
fire, the parish bestowed upon Sir Christopher Wren the curious fee
of 'one-third of a hogshead of wine.'
Here now are the close, narrow, and in many instances mean and
sordid-looking offices of merchants, insurance agents, bill-brokers,
and others, who, however, turn over vast sums of money in their
humble-looking premises.
To this curious quarter of the City Lord Cadbury had come, with his
thoughts intent--strange to say--upon Alison Cheyne!
The girl's great loveliness and purity had fired his passion--pure
love it was not, nor could it be--and a sentiment of jealousy, pique,
and more than either--something of revenge--made him resolve, through
her father's means, to bend, to bow, to crush her to the end he
wished!
At his years he was more than ever exasperated by the thought of
having a young and handsome rival like Bevil Goring to contend with;
and much jealousy had thus made the elderly lover mad with spite and
reckless of consequences; and as he knew that poverty and shame made
Sir Ranald desperate he resolved to take his measures accordingly.
The longing to break her pride and to triumph over Goring made
Cadbury meanly revengeful, and thus it was that on the day in
question he went groping towards the office of Mr. Solomon Slagg, a
bill discounter in this gloomy locality.
A narrow passage, closed by a green baize-covered swing door, led to
a room, or rather den, in which a couple of clerks sat all day long,
and often far into the night, perched on two high stools, writing in
the same dreary ledgers by gaslight, for the blessed rays of the sun
never found entrance there all the year round; and in a smaller den
beyond, usually lighted, but dimly, by a curious arrangement of
reflectors, sat Mr. Solomon Slagg, writing by the light of a single
gas jet, minus shade or glass, but encircled by a wire guard.
The dingy room--the walls, ceiling, and bare floor were all of the
same neutral kind of grey tint--had a little fire-place, wherein
stood a meagre gas-stove. Above it on shelves were numerous
mysterious-looking bottles containing samples of wine, and against
the wall were numerous oil-paintings, placed there, not for ornament,
but with reference to Mr. Slagg's multifarious modes of doing
business and 'doing' the public.
His rather rotund but misshapen figure was wedged deep in a black
leathern easychair at an ink-spotted desk, whereon lay piles of
battered and greasy-looking ledgers and day-books. His bald head was
sunk between his heavily-rounded shoulders; he had large, coarse
ears, a nose like an inverted pear, pendulous cheeks, to which
straggling grey whiskers were attached, and he had cunning little
eyes that twinkled in deep and cavernous sockets.
Altogether Mr. Solomon Slagg was not a pleasant person to look upon,
but his face, such as it was, lighted up when he saw his visitor, to
whom he bowed low, without rising, and to whom he indicated a chair
by a wave of his pen, with which he made a mark or sum total on a
page, and, closing a small ledger, turned to Lord Cadbury.
'Stifling den this of yours,' grumbled the latter, as he lighted a
cigar; 'no objections to smoking, I suppose?'
'None, my lord.'
'A vile day of fog--utter black fog. Had the devil's own trouble in
making you out on foot from Moorgate Street Station; but, you got my
letter, of course?'
'Yes, my lord.'
'And acted upon it?'
'Yes, my lord,' said Slagg, slowly, 'I was just about to write----'
'That you had got up all Cheyne's blue paper.'
'Yes, in obedience to your directions, I took up all the acceptances
I could trace, and, as he has been more than once in the Black List,
I wonder that he has been able to draw bills without some one to back
them. There is some of his paper,' added Slagg, pointing to some
very crumpled-looking slips.
'Renewed more than once apparently.'
'Oh! yes--again and again, in some instances.'
'Poor old devil!' said my Lord Cadbury, with reference to his
prospective father-in-law; 'what is the "demmed total," as Mr.
Mantilini would say?'
'About a couple of thousand.'
Cadbury smiled--the sum was a trifle to him; but its demand meant
utter ruin to the impecunious Sir Ranald, who could no more meet his
acceptances than fly.
'My pretty Alison will find that at Chilcote she has been living in a
kind of fool's paradise,' thought he, as he tugged his long white
moustache with very great complacency.
'You will put all the pressure you can upon Sir Ranald when these
bills fall due--no more renewals at any risk; at the same time it
must all appear as your affair, not mine--my name must not appear in
the matter.'
'Of course not, my lord; if it did----'
'Don't even think of it, for in that case it would prove my ruin in a
quarter where I wish to be well thought of.'
'Sir Ranald Cheyne seems to have been anticipating his income.'
'Till, I suppose, there is nothing more to anticipate.'
'Exactly.'
'Good--good!' exclaimed Cadbury, as he struck his gloved hands
together; 'then you'll put the screw on him the moment you can do so.'
'Before this week is out, my lord. There is one acceptance there for
£300 on which the three days of grace are yet to run, and then I
shall act upon the whole. Your lordship gave me _carte blanche_ to
acquire all these documents, and, having done so, your money must be
repaid to you through me.'
'Precisely so.'
The two shook hands, and again Cadbury dived into the choking fog, to
make his way westward to his club as best he might, feeling assured
that an unexpected pressure would now be put upon the luckless
Alison, by means of her father's mental misery and inordinate pride.
He knew how intense was the girl's devotion to the old man; he knew
also that the latter, with all his love for his daughter, was not
without a considerable spice of gross selfishness in his nature; that
he loved the good things of this life very much, all the more that
many were gone, and more might go, utterly beyond his reach, unless
some one interposed to save him; and so Cadbury chuckled as he
thought of the fatal ball he had set in motion with the aid of Mr.
Solomon Slagg.
And that evening, when in the brilliantly lighted dining-room of his
magnificent and luxurious club in Pall Mall, after a sybarite repast,
with many curious and elaborate _entrées_, he drank his Clicquot
Veuve and Schloss Johannisberg, not an atom of compunction occurred
to him for the misery he was working the poor but proud old baronet,
and the sweet girl, whom, _bon gré mal gré_, he had resolved to make
his wife.