NEGOTIATIONS.
Whether Mr. Fildew ever wrote that particular letter respecting which
he spoke to Mr. Nipper is more than doubtful. Like many other men, he
hated letter-writing, and it is possible that the incident in
connection with Lord Loughton, to which he had seemed to attach so
much importance when he first heard of it, may have assumed a
different aspect when recalled to mind in the cool light of morning.
In any case, there was no observable difference in his appearance or
mode of life. He came and went, and smoked and drank, as heretofore
only it might be that he was a little more particular in scanning the
newspapers than he had previously been. At the end of a week his
friend Nipper said to him, "I see that poor young fellow was buried
yesterday."
"You mean Lord Loughton? Yes, I saw the account in this morning's
paper."
"Written to your friend yet?"
"No. On second thoughts it seemed to me that it would be better to
wait a few weeks before troubling him. He'll have enough to do and
plenty to think of for a little while."
"Well, I wouldn't lose sight of him if I were you. It must be rather
nice to be on nodding terms with an earl. Not that I should care about
that sort of thing, you know," added Nipper, hastily. He had forgotten
for the moment that he was in the habit of posing as a democrat.
"And then"--with a glance at Fildew's threadbare coat and patched
boots--"he might do something for you, you know: some snug little
government sinecure, or something of that kind. There's lots of 'em
knocking about."
Mr. Fildew laughed a little bitterly. "It may be all very well for me
not to forget him, but he may not choose to remember me."
"Well, that's the way of the world and no mistake," said the
auctioneer, with a shrug. "But, for all that, I shouldn't forget to
jog his memory. Where's the use of having swell friends if you can't
make use of 'em?"
A few evenings later Mr. Fildew called for pen, ink, and paper, and,
seating himself at a little table, apart from the rest of the company,
he wrote the following letter, which George the potman afterwards took
for him to the nearest post:
"The Brown Bear Tavern, Chalcot Street, W. C.
"_February 25th_, 18--.
"Messrs. Flicker & Tapp, Bedford Row:
"Gentlemen,--In common with a great number of other people, I have
heard with extreme regret of the untimely demise of the late Earl of
Loughton. That a life so abounding in promise should be thus suddenly
nipped in the bud must be almost enough to cause those near and dear
to him to arraign the decrees of Providence.
"I know not whether it may be a matter of any moment either to the
Dowager Countess of Loughton or to yourselves, as business agents for
the family, to be made acquainted with the whereabouts of the present
earl; but should it be so, I think I may safely say that I am the only
person in England who can furnish you with his address. You may
probably be aware that Mr. Lorrimore, as we may still call him, has
resided abroad for several years but as I happen to have had a
communication from him only a fortnight ago, I am fully competent to
supply you with the information stated above. Should you think it
worth your while to take any notice of this communication, I am to be
found here any evening from 8.30 till 11.30 P.M.
"I am, gentlemen, faithfully yours,
"John Fildew."
Two evenings passed away without any response, but on the third
evening a dapper little man, with a very shiny hat and a pair of
whiskers several sizes too large for him, walked into the bar of the
Brown Bear, and asked for Mr. Fildew. Our friend, being called, came
lounging out of the coffee-room, his glass in his eye and a thumb in
each waistcoat pocket.
"Are you Mr. John Fildew?" asked the little stranger, taking in the
whole of John's shabby toggery at a glance.
"I am--unfortunately. I often think it would be a good thing if I
could be somebody else."
"My name is Perkins. I have called respecting a certain letter
addressed by you to Messrs. Flicker & Tapp. Our senior partner would
like to know--"
"Pardon me," interrupted Fildew, blandly, "but if I have not the
pleasure of addressing either Mr. Flicker or Mr. Tapp, we need not
proceed further with the matter."
"Why, sir--how, sir--I don't understand you!" spluttered Mr. Perkins,
becoming as red as a turkey-cock.
"I am sorry for that. I will put my meaning as plainly as possible. I
never transact business except with principals."
"But I tell you, sir, I have been sent here specially to--to--"
"I am sorry that you should have your trouble for nothing, but unless
Mr. Flicker or Mr. Tapp choose to come and consult me in person the
matter must end here. And, really, I shall not be sorry for it to do
so."
"Mr. Flicker or Mr. Tapp come to a place like this!"
"Why not, my dear Mr. Perkins? If the place is good enough for me,
surely it is good enough for them."
"Why, you impertinent, shabby--"
"Gently, my dear Mr. Perkins, gently. I've rather a partiality for
little men, so long as they behave themselves; but when little men
become impertinent I've a nasty trick of caning them (_verbum sap_.).
But have a drop of something hot before you go. This house has a name
for its old Jamaica, and I've an odd sixpence somewhere in a corner of
my pocket."
"To the devil with your Jamaica and your sixpence too!" ejaculated Mr.
Perkins. "It's my opinion that you're nothing better than a common
swindler;" and, jamming his hat over his brows, the little man turned
abruptly on his heel and left the bar. Mr. Fildew, after a grim,
silent laugh, went back to his pipe in the coffee-room.
Three days later Mr. Fildew found a note awaiting his arrival at the
Brown Bear. It ran as follows:
"No. 429 Bedford Row.
"Messrs. Flicker & Tapp will be at liberty to see Mr. John Fildew any
morning between half-past ten and two, if he will favor them with a
call as above."
To this the following answer was sent:
"The Brown Bear Tavern.
"Mr. Fildew is sorry to say that his numerous engagements preclude him
from having the pleasure of waiting on Messrs. Flicker & Tapp, as
suggested in their note of yesterday. As previously stated, Mr. Fildew
may be found at the above address any evening prior to 11.30 P.M."
"They shall wait upon me, not I upon them," said Mr. Fildew to
himself, with an emphatic bang of his fist upon the unoffending
postage-stamp.
And so it came to pass for one evening the great Mr. Flicker himself
put in an appearance at the Brown Bear, having left his brougham at
the corner of the street. He was a tall, thin, melancholy-looking man,
like an attenuated life-guardsman who had turned mute for a
livelihood. He stood among the bar-frequenters for a moment or two
while Mr. Fildew was summoned, looking as grim, cold, and
uncompromising as if he had been carved out of monumental marble.
"I am Mr. Flicker."
"I am Mr. Fildew."
Then the latter said a few words to the landlord, and the two
gentlemen were ushered up-stairs into a private room. As soon as the
door was shut, said the lawyer: "We received rather a singular
communication from you a few days ago, Mr. Fildew."
"In what did the singularity of my communication consist, Mr.
Flicker?"
"I will be frank with you, and I trust you will be equally frank with
me."
Mr. Fildew bowed, but said nothing.
"May I be permitted to ask by what reasons you were influenced in your
assumption that a knowledge of the address of--of--"
"Of the present Earl of Loughton," suggested Mr. Fildew, blandly.
"That a knowledge of the address of the person named in your letter,"
said Mr. Flicker, loftily, "could be of any possible interest either
to the Dowager Lady Loughton or to myself or partner?"
"Were I so minded, I might content myself by replying that the fact of
your presence here this evening is a proof that the information
proffered by me has a certain measure of interest for you, and
possibly for her ladyship also. But you have asked me to deal frankly
with you, and I will endeavor to do so. Since writing my first letter
to you, I have had a communication from his lordship containing
certain instructions, and giving me full power to act in his behalf in
this matter."
Mr. Flicker's eyebrows went up perceptibly, but he simply bowed and
waited to hear more.
"Before proceeding further," resumed Mr. Fildew, "it may be as well if
I give you our view of the case as it now stands. Of course we are all
aware that the title, as it comes to the present earl, is what may be
called a barren honor, there being no entail. Not one golden guinea,
not one acre of moorland, comes with it. The father of the late earl,
when he drew up his will, might have foreseen the contingency which
the strange irony of events all unlikely as it then seemed--has now
brought about. He took every possible precaution that his scapegrace
cousin the man who on account of his evil doings, had been compelled
to expatriate himself long years before, should not inherit a single
rood of the property, and he would doubtless have willed the title
away also had it been in his power to do so. The greater share of the
property comes to Miss Collumpton, and a lesser share to Mr. Slingsby
Boscombe, both of whom are half-cousins to the late earl, and I
believe it has long been considered a desirable thing in the Lorrimore
family that the two young people in question should unite their
fortunes in wedlock. Should this consummation be brought about, one
thing and one only would be needed to make such a union a matter for
rejoicing among gods and men. The one thing needful would be that the
title should accompany the estates." Mr. Fildew paused for a moment to
relight the pipe he had brought with him from the coffee-room. "Which
is your favorite tobacco, Mr. Flicker?" he asked, as he blew a cloud
of smoke from his lips. "For my part, give me bird's-eye for choice."
"I never use tobacco in any shape, sir," said Mr. Flicker, with a sort
of lofty scorn.
"Then let me tell you, sir, that you lose one of the pleasures of
existence. But to return to our muttons. As you and I are well aware,
Mr. Flicker, under present circumstances the title cannot go with the
estates but it may follow them, and that at no distant date. The life
of one elderly gentleman--of a gentleman who has been in infirm health
for years--is all that now stands between Mr. Slingsby Boscombe and an
earldom. But supposing this same elderly gentleman were to marry and
have issue, where would Mr. Boscombe's chance be in that case?" Mr.
Fildew put up his glass and stared across at his companion as if
awaiting a reply but Mr. Flicker merely blew his nose with a
melancholy air, and said nothing.
"However, as I am instructed," resumed Mr. Fildew, "matrimony is the
last thought in his lordship's mind. At the same time, he does not
relish the idea of succeeding to the title without any income to
support it with. What, therefore, I am empowered to suggest is a
compromise. Provided his lordship will enter into an engagement not to
contract a matrimonial alliance, the question is what amount per annum
the dowager countess, or Miss Collumpton, or Mr. Slingsby Boscombe, or
all three of them together, will be prepared, after due consideration,
to allow him out of the estate."
Mr. Fildew let his eyeglass drop and resumed smoking.
Mr. Flicker sat and stared at him across the table. His respect for
the strange, shabby, tobacco-flavored man before him had gone up
thirty per cent. during the last few minutes.
"Well, Mr. Fildew, really I am at a loss to know in what light to
regard the strange proposition you have put before me. I have no
instructions to--to--"
"I can't quite understand that," broke in Fildew, "and I am not such
an ass as to expect an answer from you off-hand. Take my proposition
away with you, and you and the dowager can consider it at your
leisure. You know by this time where I am to be found."
Mr. Flicker rose. His sluggish blood was beginning to simmer. He felt
that he had been quietly put down all through the interview. The
strange being before him had actually had the presumption to address
him in the same tone that he himself might have made use of when
speaking to one of his clerks.
"By-the-bye, there is one point that I must press specially on your
attention," resumed Fildew, as he too rose. "His lordship informs me
that the first step in the negotiations, should your side agree to
negotiate at all, must be a distinct understanding that the debts, on
account of which he left England so many years ago, shall be
discharged in full. His lordship makes that a _sine quâ non_."
"If his lordship may be judged by the tone of his mouthpiece," said
Mr. Flicker, dryly, "it seems pretty evident that he looks upon
himself as master of the situation."
"It is quite possible that such may be the earl's own opinion. But, in
any case, Mr. Flicker, I think that you and I understand each other by
this time."
Mr. Flicker muttered something that was inaudible and opened the door.
"One moment, if you please," said Mr. Fildew. Then he rang the bell.
"James, be good enough to light this gentleman downstairs and conduct
him through the bar."
Four days later the following letter was put into Mr. Fildew's hands:
"If Mr. Fildew will call at No. 287 Harley Street, at noon to-morrow
(Tuesday), the Dowager Countess of Loughton will be at home."
Never had John Fildew looked more uncompromisingly and audaciously
shabby than when he knocked at 287 Harley Street. His hat and coat
might not have been brushed for days. His boots seemed to lack
something of their usual polish. He wore a frayed black satin
stock with long ends, which completely hid whatever portion of his
shirt-front might otherwise have been visible, but which, at the same
time, gave one the idea that perhaps there was nothing to hide. A
faint, a very faint, aroma of stale tobacco floated round him as he
moved.
The bleak March winds had made the ridge of his nose look more purple
than usual, and when he put a dingy piece of pasteboard into the hand
of the tall footman who answered his knock, that functionary was
evidently disposed to look upon him as a member of the great
fraternity of shabby-genteel beggars.
"Take that to the Countess of Loughton, and be quick about it," said
Mr. Fildew, in the sharp military way he sometimes affected, for the
man was turning the card over and hesitating.
Three minutes later Mr. Fildew found himself in the presence of the
countess and Mr. Flicker.
The Dowager Lady Loughton was nearly eighty years old, but was still a
wonderfully active and bright-eyed little woman. The tradition ran
that she had been accounted a great beauty in her youth, but her nose
and chin nearly touched each other now, and when she grew very earnest
in conversation her head began to nod as if to add emphasis to her
words, but that was simply because she could not keep it still at such
times. All her life she had borne the reputation of being a good
hater, and it was said that her tongue grew more venomous each year
that she lived. The sudden death of her grandson had doubtless been a
great blow to her, but she bore the loss with a stoicism which would
not let any signs of grief be witnessed by those about her. Some of
the countess's dearest friends averred that her grief at the fact of
the title having to lapse into another branch of the family was quite
as poignant as that which she felt for the loss of the young earl; but
then we all know what strange things our dearest friends will say
about us.
The countess examined Mr. Fildew through her double eyeglass--even at
seventy-eight she would not take to spectacles--as he crossed the room
after the servant had shut the door behind him. Mr. Flicker's
description of the man had made her slightly curious respecting him.
In that elegantly furnished room John Fildew's shabbiness looked
shabbier by contrast. Had he been dressed as an ordinary working man
he would not have looked nearly so much out of place as he did in the
worn and rusty garments of a broken-down man about town. The only
change in his attire that he had made in honor of the occasion
consisted of a pair of very ancient black-kid gloves, which had been
stitched and restitched so often that nothing more could be done for
them, and a narrow mourning band round his hat.
"You are Mr. Fildew?" asked the countess, with a sort of sweet
condescension in her tones.
"And you are the Dowager Lady Loughton."
Her ladyship looked at Mr. Flicker as much as to say, "You were quite
right a strange being, truly." Then she said aloud, "Pray take a
chair, Mr. Fildew."
This Mr. Fildew did, planting himself close to the little table near
which the countess and the lawyer were seated. Then he stared mildly
through his glass at one and the other of them, as waiting to hear
more.
"Mr. Flicker has confided to me the purport of his interview with you
a few evenings ago," began the countess.
"And the decision which her ladyship has arrived at," croaked Mr.
Flicker, "is that the suggestion then put forward by you is totally
inadmissible, and cannot be entertained for a moment."
"Then may I ask," said Mr. Fildew, with a sort of grave surprise, "why
I have been summoned to Harley Street this morning? All this might
surely have been told me under cover of a penny postage-stamp."
"Although I cannot at present see my way to entertain the proposition
which Mr. Lorrimore has thought fit to make through you," said the
countess, "it may still be conceded that I am not without a little
natural curiosity to learn some particulars concerning the man
himself, and what he has been doing these many years since he left
England."
"I have no authority to gratify your ladyship's curiosity. I am here
simply to negotiate a certain business transaction. As there seems no
probability of our coming to terms I may as well take my leave at
once. When Lord Loughton arrives in England he will no doubt be able
to satisfy your ladyship's affectionate inquiries: whether he will
care to do so is another matter." Mr. Fildew rose and pushed back his
chair.
"Sit down, sir," said her ladyship, with an imperious gesture. "If you
were Lord Loughton himself you could not treat me more cavalierly."
Her head began to nod portentously.
"Suppose I am Lord Loughton?" said Mr. Fildew, quietly, as he resumed
his seat.
"Eh!" said her ladyship, with a sudden scared look.
"I say--suppose I am Lord Loughton?"
She stuck her double eyeglass across her nose and stared at him for a
moment or two. "You Lord Loughton--you!" she said, with a little
derisive cackle. "Tchut! tchut! that would be a farce indeed."
"A farce that, like many others in real life, may involve a most
serious meaning. But whether it be a farce or a masquerade, it is high
time it were ended. Permit me, therefore, to introduce myself to your
ladyship as John Marmaduke Lorrimore, ninth Earl of Loughton."