MR. FORDE MAKES A MISTAKE.
Matters were not progressing pleasantly at Homewood. Relieved from his
task of watching Mrs. Mortomley's movements, Mr. Meadows had spent the
evening of her departure in the company of Messrs. Lang and Hankins at
the public-house which they patronised, and the consequence was that he
came downstairs next morning very late, and feeling, after a debauch
following a period of enforced sobriety, not at all himself.
And there was nothing prepared for breakfast which he liked. Turner and
the other man having been first in the field, had finished such
delicacies as Esther had seen fit to set before them, and when at
length Mr. Meadows appeared he found to his disgust nothing to tempt his
appetite. A pot of tea, with sugar and milk accompaniments, a boiled
egg, a loaf, and a small quantity of butter, alone graced the board.
"I can't eat this, you know," said Mr. Meadows, pushing away the egg
with an expression of loathing.
"Well, you can leave it then?" retorted Esther.
"Bring me some ham," he commanded.
"There is not any," she answered.
"Then send for some."
"Send for some yourself, and send the money with it," replied Esther,
who was not destitute of that spice of the virago which gives flavour
and variety to a woman's character.
Mr. Meadows looked at her darkly, then put his hand in his
waistcoat-pocket, and produced some silver.
"Where is Susan?" he inquired.
"She is out," was the curt reply.
"When will she be in?"
"I do not know," Esther answered. "Never perhaps. She has gone after a
fresh place, and that is what I intend to do before long."
"And that is just what you won't do, my fine young woman," he declared,
"for you cannot leave without a month's notice."
"Well, we will see," she replied. "I have not to give notice to you
anyhow. I am not your servant."
"You are Mr. Swanland's, which is about the same thing," was the answer.
"You chose to stay on after he took possession here for your own
pleasure, and you will stay on now for mine, or else we will go before
the nearest magistrate and know what he says on the subject."
But he spoke to space, for Esther, too indignant to listen further, had
already left the kitchen, and he was compelled himself to go out into
the works and send a lad for the viands his soul desired.
He had not finished his repast before a cab drove up, containing Messrs.
Forde and Kleinwort.
Turner, sauntering idly about the lawn, was accosted by them.
"I want to see Mrs. Mortomley," Mr. Forde exclaimed.
"She has not returned. She left yesterday, as Mr. Meadows told you, sir,
with Mrs. Werner."
"Yes; but she has come back here."
"That she certainly has not," was the quiet reply.
The two men looked at each other; then Mr. Kleinwort said,
"We should like to speak just one word with that bright little maid,
Esther I think you call her. Will you tell her so?"
"I will find her myself," said Mr. Forde, and he strode into the house,
followed by Kleinwort. As they entered the kitchen, Meadows, looking
little better for his breakfast, rose to meet them.
"Where is Mrs. Mortomley?" repeated Mr. Forde, evidently believing that
iteration would bring him knowledge.
"At Mr. Werner's sir," Mr. Forde muttered an impatient oath.
"Where is that girl?--Esther, I mean."
Mr. Meadows went in search of her, and when she appeared, Mr. Forde
remarked once again, that he wanted to see Mrs. Mortomley.
"She is not here, sir, she went away with Mrs. Werner yesterday."
"Yes, but she left Mrs. Werner's last night, and you know where she is
now."
The arrow was shot at a venture, but it told. Esther coloured and looked
confused.
"Come now, tell us where she is," said Mr. Forde in his mildest accents.
It was not of the slightest use trying to fence with the difficulty, so
Esther grappled it.
"I do not know, sir," she answered; thinking she might as well tell a
sufficient falsehood when she was about it.
"That is not the truth," remarked Mr. Forde.
"And if I did know where she was, sir," continued Esther, "I should not
give her address to you or any one else without her permission."
"You are all a pack of thieves and swindlers together," observed Mr.
Forde; including, with a comprehensive glance, Meadows and the two men
and Esther, in the statement levelled against the Mortomley
establishment; "and I don't know that I ought not to give you all in
charge for conspiracy. I will send for a policeman, and see if he cannot
induce some of you to find your tongues."
"I wish you would hold yours for a while," interposed Kleinwort. "Fact
is, my good peoples, we want to see that dear, distressed Mrs.
Mortomley, and do much good to her and that poor invalid husband, and
after a day or two it will be too late by far. You come with me," he
added, addressing Turner; "you, I see, have brains and can understand;
let me talk with you."
And so he and Turner walked into the conservatory.
"I will give you one--two--dree--foar--five gold pounds, if you get me
the place where to find our little lady," he remarked.
But Turner shook his head.
"I can't get it for you," he said.
"But that maid so nice knows where she is. You worm it out of her. You
extract that knowledge."
"No, sir," answered Turner. "I will not. I am not aware she has the
slightest idea where her mistress is; but if she has, I am not going to
pump her to please you. Put up your money, sir. God knows I have always
thought badly enough of our calling, but I think it respectable in
comparison to the callings I have seen followed by rich people since I
came here; and badly as I want five pounds, if I could take it to play
the spy on a lady like Mrs. Mortomley, I ought to be shot--that is what
ought to be done with me; and I have no more to say."
"What can these beastly English brutes see in that Mrs. Mortomley to
make them loyal so senselessly," considered Mr. Kleinwort. "She has not
golden hair like mine dear wife, nor eyes so blue; nor presence so
imposing; nor that red and white so lovely; neither is she
house-mistress so clever; nor big brains as have some women. All she
seems to be owned of is a sharp tongue and a big temper. But these Bulls
are so stupid, they like to be goaded; they need not repose at home, as
do we whose heads know no rest abroad."
For above an hour the pair remained at Homewood, thinking what could be
done, but every one about the place they found either senselessly honest
or stupid beyond belief; and at last, wearied and angry, Mr. Forde
returned to the kitchen, and addressing Esther, remarked, "I suppose if
I leave a note here, Mrs. Mortomley will have it?"
Then answered Esther demurely, "I'm sure I don't know, sir; you had
better ask Mr. Meadows."
"What the ---- has Mr. Meadows to do with the matter," inquired Mr. Forde.
"Only, sir, that he sends all my mistress' letters to Mr. Swanland,"
explained Esther, delighted at a chance of at last airing that
grievance.
"What does she mean?" inquired Mr. Forde, turning to Meadows.
"Nothing, sir, only that Mr. Swanland, as trustee, of course opens _all_
letters."
Whereupon Mr. Forde made some remarks about Mr. Swanland, which, though
a true chronicler, I must refrain from setting forth in print.
"I should think, sir," suggested Esther, when the storm had blown over a
little, "that, if you sent a note either to Mr. Leigh or to Mrs. Werner,
my mistress would have it. She is quite certain to send her address to
them."
"Look here, my girl," said Mr. Forde, "I will give the note to you, and
trust to chance. If Mrs. Mortomley has not given her address to you,
which I believe she has, she will within twenty-four hours. Give me pen,
ink, and paper."
And though letter-writing was against all Mr. Forde's principles, he
thereupon sat down and wrote a note to Mrs. Mortomley, stating with what
regret he had heard of her consulting a solicitor, and asking for an
interview which he had no doubt would prove of ultimate advantage to
all concerned, "including Mr. Mortomley himself."
When he had finished, he laid the envelope and a florin on the table and
summoned Esther.
"That is the letter," he remarked.
She took the letter and pushed aside the florin.
"My mistress left me enough money, thank you, sir," she said; "and I
would rather not take any more from any one."
Mr. Kleinwort shrugged his shoulders as she retreated, and his friend
pocketed the florin.
"Asherill had reason," remarked the German.
"What reason, and for what?" asked Mr. Forde.
"He would do nothing with those people," was the reply; "and, my faith,
before you have finished, I think it may come to pass you shall wish you
had let them choose their own lawyer, their own trustee, and liquidated
their own estate for their own selves."
"But you yourself advised--" began Mr. Forde.
"Advised on your story which you swore was true. You said Mortomley was
shamming sick; that the nephew was a rogue and fool combined; that the
little woman had her own fortune secure; that besides, they had made one
great _coup_, and put away money beyond count. Ah! bah! you great,
stupid head--these two, man and wife, have been as senselessly honest as
foolish, as even I, looking around, using my eyes, using my ears, can
see, and you had better have treated them as such. Now I have said my
say, now do as you like for the future."
"You are a clever fellow, Kleinwort, but you do not understand England
or English people."
"That may be well," agreed Mr. Kleinwort, with a face like a judge, all
the time he was laughing to himself at the innocence of his companion.
As for Mr. Forde, what he liked to do in the future was this.
When Mrs. Mortomley received his letter she sent it to Mr. Leigh,
requesting him to attend to it; and although the lawyer considered it a
somewhat curious and involved epistle, he repaired forthwith to St.
Vedast Wharf.
Mr. Forde was within and visible.
"I have called," said Mr. Leigh, after the first ordinary courtesies had
been exchanged, "to speak about a letter you sent to Mrs. Mortomley a
few days ago."
Mr. Forde rose and put his hands in his pockets. "You will not speak to
me about it, my good sir; depend upon that," he observed.
"I think you must have misunderstood me," ventured Mr. Leigh in
amazement.
"No, sir, I have not," was the reply. "I wrote a friendly letter to Mrs.
Mortomley, and instead of coming to me herself she sends a lawyer. I
will have nothing to do with you, sir. There is the door; be kind
enough, as you came through it, to go out through it."
"Certainly," agreed Mr. Leigh, "but--"
"Leave the room, sir," roared Mr. Forde. "Will you go out of the
premises peaceably, or must I put you out?"
"Mr. Forde," remarked the lawyer, "you must be mad or drunk. In either
case I can have no wish to remain in your company. Good morning."
"Leave the room, sir," repeated Mr. Forde. He was one of those men who
think some charm lies in shouting out a certain form of words so long as
any one can be found to listen to it.
"Good morning," said Mr. Leigh again in reply, and he left St. Vedast
Wharf boiling over with rage.
As he proceeded up the lane he met a man with whom he had some
acquaintance--a man recently elected one of the directors of the General
Chemical Company, Limited.
"Why, Leigh," said this gentleman, "where are you coming from?"
"I am coming from being ordered off your premises by your manager,"
replied Mr. Leigh, still white with passion.
"My dear fellow, impossible--"
"Not merely possible, but true," was the answer. "I have a client of the
name of Mortomley, who, some years ago, became acquainted with your
firm, and who has never done a day's good since. He is now in
liquidation, and Mr. Forde wrote a note to Mrs. Mortomley, which I can
show you if you are at all interested in so small an affair, wanting to
see her. She did not want to see him, and so sent his communication on
to me; but when I went to speak to him he flamed out on me as if I had
been a pickpocket, ordered me off the premises, and behaved, as I told
him, as if he were either mad or drunk."
"Humph!" said the new director. Mr. Forde had within the previous
half-hour dealt himself a worse card than had ever before lain in his
hand. "If you want an apology, Leigh, the idiot shall send you
one--but--"
"Apology!" repeated the lawyer, "do you suppose I would accept one if
the maniac sent it; but look to yourself, Agnew. There is something
awfully rotten about your company, or I am much mistaken."
"I quite agree with you," was the reply; and the pair parted company;
but instead of entering St. Vedast Wharf, Mr. Agnew turned along a
cross lane, and thought Mr. Forde over quietly and at his leisure.
When he had thought him over he retraced his steps, and entered the
offices, where Mr. Forde greeted him as though he had never spoken an
insolent or unkind word to any one.
"Fine morning, sir," he declared. It was a curious fact that the moment
the Mortomleys left Homewood the rain ceased.
"Yes, very fine," Mr. Agnew agreed, walking to the window. He was the
most silent person Mr. Forde had ever encountered. He wore his hair
parted down the middle, he used scent, his hands were very small and
white, his clothes came from a West-end tailor, and he had married the
daughter of some country magnate. Altogether, every one liked him at the
board, because he did not interfere, because he was a gentleman, and
because, as one of his fellow-directors said,
"He is a HASS. If you want my opinion of him, that's what he is--a
HASS."
And so nobody feared and no one cultivated him, and he moaned about the
premises at various hours, asking unconnected questions, looking at the
books in a desultory sort of way, tolerated at the wharf as a simpleton
might have been, and seeing much more than any one gave him credit for.
One of the questions he asked Mr. Forde quietly and in a corner on that
especial day related to the estate Mr. Swanland was liquidating.
"About Mortomley now," he said confidentially.
"I am sorry to tell you, sir, I have been entirely deceived in that
blackguard," answered Mr. Forde. "I trusted him as I would my own
brother, and he has run away with I should be sorry to say what amount
of money; but we shall catch him yet I hope," added Mr. Forde; "and
Swanland says there will be a capital dividend. But one does not know
who is honest, one does not, indeed. I shall never advise giving another
man time."
"I really do not think I should were I you," said Mr. Agnew. "It makes
matters unpleasant if things go wrong."
"Aye, that it does," said Mr. Forde, "though that would not matter much
if all my directors were such Zanies as you," he added mentally.
For it was a curious fact that Mr. Forde conscientiously believed if he
could only be rid of the interference of his directors for a month, or
obtain an entirely new set whom he could direct as he pleased, fashioned
perhaps upon the model of Mr. Agnew, he should be able to make such play
with the resources of the Chemical Company, that he might raise it to
the pinnacle of commercial success.
Beyond keeping his situation he had really very little good for himself,
notwithstanding his man[oe]uvring, notwithstanding the risks he had run,
the almost maddening anxieties in which he had managed to entangle
himself.
Heaven knows the game had not been worth the candle, but then, when a
man begins a game, he cannot tell the end; and when the game is ended,
it is too late to fret about the cost.
If ever an essentially round person had the misfortune to be placed in a
square hole, that person was Mr. Forde; and not all his loud talk and
vehement self-exertion could fill the vacant corners or give him any
real sense of security in his position.
Nevertheless, to that position he held on as a man might cling to the
last to a sinking vessel.
So long as he could keep his head above water at St. Vedast Wharf, there
was hope that some friendly ship might rescue and bear him off to
safety.
"You wait," said Kleinwort to him, when they were discussing the
pig-headedness of the directors and the general and disgusting
ingratitude of small customers, who would keep failing, and thus drew
attention to those accounts which were of regal magnitude. "You wait; do
not inquiet yourself more than you can avoid. I have one idea that we
should be able to do much good together. Once I make a great _coup_ that
is in mine head, then we shall see much. Amongst more if Bertrand
Kleinwort cannot put a fortune in the way of his friend."
"Thank you, Kleinwort," replied Mr. Forde gratefully. "I know I can
trust _you_."
Which showed an amount of faith difficult to conceive of any one
possessing in the sceptical nineteenth century.
But Mr. Forde had an enormous capacity for believing in things he
desired should come to pass.
And this was really a great pity.
END OF VOL. II.
PRINTED BY TAYLOR AND CO.,
LITTLE QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS.
Transcriber's Note: Minor changes have been made to spelling and
punctuation. For example, the word hold was changed to holding and
neighbourood to neighbourhood. The oe ligature is shown as [oe].