CHAPTER LXIII.
MR. MELMOTTE ON THE DAY OF THE ELECTION.
No election of a Member of Parliament by ballot in a borough so largeas that of Westminster had as yet been achieved in England since theballot had been established by law. Men who heretofore had known,or thought that they knew, how elections would go, who counted uppromises, told off professed enemies, and weighed the doubtful ones,now confessed themselves to be in the dark. Three days since the oddshad been considerably in Melmotte's favour; but this had come fromthe reputation attached to his name, rather than from any calculationas to the politics of the voters. Then Sunday had intervened. Onthe Monday Melmotte's name had continued to go down in the bettingfrom morning to evening. Early in the day his supporters had thoughtlittle of this, attributing the fall to that vacillation whichis customary in such matters; but towards the latter part of theafternoon the tidings from the City had been in everybody's mouth,and Melmotte's committee-room had been almost deserted. At sixo'clock there were some who suggested that his name should bewithdrawn. No such suggestion, however, was made to him,--perhapsbecause no one dared to make it. On the Monday evening all work andstrategy for the election, as regarded Melmotte and his party, diedaway; and the interest of the hour was turned to the dinner.
But Mr. Alf's supporters were very busy. There had been a closeconsultation among a few of them as to what should be done by theirCommittee as to these charges against the opposite candidate. In the"Pulpit" of that evening an allusion had been made to the affair,which was of course sufficiently intelligible to those who wereimmediately concerned in the matter, but which had given no name andmentioned no details. Mr. Alf explained that this had been put in bythe sub-editor, and that it only afforded such news as the paper wasbound to give to the public. He himself pointed out the fact that nonote of triumph had been sounded, and that the rumour had not beenconnected with the election.
One old gentleman was of opinion that they were bound to make themost of it. "It's no more than we've all believed all along," saidthe old gentleman, "and why are we to let a fellow like that getthe seat if we can keep him out?" He was of opinion that everythingshould be done to make the rumour with all its exaggerations aspublic as possible,--so that there should be no opening for anindictment for libel; and the clever old gentleman was full ofdevices by which this might be effected. But the Committee generallywas averse to fight in this manner. Public opinion has its Bar aswell as the Law Courts. If, after all, Melmotte had committed nofraud,--or, as was much more probable, should not be convicted offraud,--then it would be said that the accusation had been forged forpurely electioneering purposes, and there might be a rebound whichwould pretty well crush all those who had been concerned. Individualgentlemen could, of course, say what they pleased to individualvoters; but it was agreed at last that no overt use should be made ofthe rumours by Mr. Alf's Committee. In regard to other matters, theywho worked under the Committee were busy enough. The dinner to theEmperor was turned into ridicule, and the electors were asked whetherthey felt themselves bound to return a gentleman out of the City toParliament because he had offered to spend a fortune on entertainingall the royalties then assembled in London. There was very much saidon placards and published in newspapers to the discredit of Melmotte,but nothing was so printed which would not have appeared with equalvenom had the recent rumours never been sent out from the City. Attwelve o'clock at night, when Mr. Alf's committee-room was beingclosed, and when Melmotte was walking home to bed, the generalopinion at the clubs was very much in favour of Mr. Alf.
On the next morning Melmotte was up before eight. As yet no policemanhad called for him, nor had any official intimation reached him thatan accusation was to be brought against him. On coming down from hisbedroom he at once went into the back-parlour on the ground floor,which Mr. Longestaffe called his study, and which Mr. Melmotte hadused since he had been in Mr. Longestaffe's house for the work whichhe did at home. He would be there often early in the morning, andoften late at night after Lord Alfred had left him. There were twoheavy desk-tables in the room, furnished with drawers down to theground. One of these the owner of the house had kept locked for hisown purposes. When the bargain for the temporary letting of the househad been made, Mr. Melmotte and Mr. Longestaffe were close friends.Terms for the purchase of Pickering had just been made, and nocause for suspicion had as yet arisen. Everything between the twogentlemen had been managed with the greatest ease. Oh dear, yes! Mr.Longestaffe could come whenever he pleased. He, Melmotte, always leftthe house at ten and never returned till six. The ladies would neverenter that room. The servants were to regard Mr. Longestaffe quiteas master of the house as far as that room was concerned. If Mr.Longestaffe could spare it, Mr. Melmotte would take the key of one ofthe tables. The matter was arranged very pleasantly.
Mr. Melmotte, on entering the room bolted the door, and then, sittingat his own table, took certain papers out of the drawers,--a bundleof letters and another of small documents. From these, with verylittle examination, he took three or four,--two or three perhapsfrom each. These he tore into very small fragments and burned thebits,--holding them over a gas-burner and letting the ashes fall intoa large china plate. Then he blew the ashes into the yard through theopen window. This he did to all these documents but one. This one heput bit by bit into his mouth, chewing the paper into a pulp tillhe swallowed it. When he had done this, and had re-locked his owndrawers, he walked across to the other table, Mr. Longestaffe'stable, and pulled the handle of one of the drawers. It opened;--andthen, without touching the contents, he again closed it. He thenknelt down and examined the lock, and the hole above into which thebolt of the lock ran. Having done this he again closed the drawer,drew back the bolt of the door, and, seating himself at his own desk,rang the bell which was close to hand. The servant found him writingletters after his usual hurried fashion, and was told that he wasready for breakfast. He always breakfasted alone with a heap ofnewspapers around him, and so he did on this day. He soon found theparagraph alluding to himself in the "Pulpit," and read it without aquiver in his face or the slightest change in his colour. There wasno one to see him now,--but he was acting under a resolve that at nomoment, either when alone, or in a crowd, or when suddenly calledupon for words,--not even when the policemen with their first hintsof arrest should come upon him,--would he betray himself by theworking of a single muscle, or the loss of a drop of blood fromhis heart. He would go through it, always armed, without a sign ofshrinking. It had to be done, and he would do it.
At ten he walked down to the central committee-room at WhitehallPlace. He thought that he would face the world better by walkingthan if he were taken in his own brougham. He gave orders that thecarriage should be at the committee-room at eleven, and wait anhour for him if he was not there. He went along Bond Street andPiccadilly, Regent Street and through Pall Mall to Charing Cross,with the blandly triumphant smile of a man who had successfullyentertained the great guest of the day. As he got near the club hemet two or three men whom he knew, and bowed to them. They returnedhis bow graciously enough, but not one of them stopped to speak tohim. Of one he knew that he would have stopped, had it not been forthe rumour. Even after the man had passed on he was careful to showno displeasure on his face. He would take it all as it would comeand still be the blandly triumphant Merchant Prince,--as long as thepolice would allow him. He probably was not aware how very differentwas the part he was now playing from that which he had assumed at theIndia Office.
At the committee-room he only found a few understrappers, and wasinformed that everything was going on regularly. The electorswere balloting; but with the ballot,--so said the leader of theunderstrappers,--there never was any excitement. The men lookedhalf-frightened,--as though they did not quite know whether theyought to seize their candidate, and hold him till the constable came.They certainly had not expected to see him there. "Has Lord Alfredbeen here?" Melmotte asked, standing in the inner room with hisback to the empty grate. No,--Lord Alfred had not been there.
"NorMr. Grendall?" The senior understrapper knew that Melmotte wouldhave asked for "his Secretary," and not for Mr. Grendall, but forthe rumours. It is so hard not to tumble into Scylla when you areavoiding Charybdis. Mr. Grendall had not been there. Indeed, nobodyhad been there. "In fact, there is nothing more to be done, Isuppose?" said Mr. Melmotte. The senior understrapper thought thatthere was nothing more to be done. He left word that his broughamshould be sent away, and strolled out again on foot.
He went up into Covent Garden, where there was a polling booth. Theplace seemed to him, as one of the chief centres for a contestedelection, to be wonderfully quiet. He was determined to faceeverybody and everything, and he went close up to the booth. Here hewas recognised by various men, mechanics chiefly, who came forwardand shook hands with him. He remained there for an hour conversingwith people, and at last made a speech to a little knot around him.He did not allude to the rumour of yesterday, nor to the paragraphin the "Pulpit" to which his name had not been attached; but hespoke freely enough of the general accusations that had been broughtagainst him previously. He wished the electors to understand thatnothing which had been said against him made him ashamed to meet themhere or elsewhere. He was proud of his position, and proud that theelectors of Westminster should recognise it. He did not, he was gladto say, know much of the law, but he was told that the law wouldprotect him from such aspersions as had been unfairly thrown uponhim. He flattered himself that he was too good an Englishman toregard the ordinary political attacks to which candidates were, asa matter of course, subject at elections;--and he could stretch hisback to bear perhaps a little more than these, particularly as helooked forward to a triumphant return. But things had been said, andpublished, which the excitement of an election could not justify,and as to these things he must have recourse to the law. Then hemade some allusion to the Princes and the Emperor, and concludedby observing that it was the proudest boast of his life to be anEnglishman and a Londoner.
It was asserted afterwards that this was the only good speech he hadever been known to make; and it was certainly successful, as he wasapplauded throughout Covent Garden. A reporter for the "BreakfastTable" who was on duty at the place, looking for paragraphs as tothe conduct of electors, gave an account of the speech in that paper,and made more of it, perhaps, than it deserved. It was assertedafterwards, and given as a great proof of Melmotte's cleverness,that he had planned the thing and gone to Covent Garden all alonehaving considered that in that way could he best regain a step inreputation; but in truth the affair had not been preconcerted. It waswhile in Whitehall Place that he had first thought of going to CoventGarden, and he had had no idea of making a speech till the people hadgathered round him.
It was then noon, and he had to determine what he should do next. Hewas half inclined to go round to all the booths and make speeches.His success at Covent Garden had been very pleasant to him. But hefeared that he might not be so successful elsewhere. He had shownthat he was not afraid of the electors. Then an idea struck him thathe would go boldly into the City,--to his own offices in AbchurchLane. He had determined to be absent on this day, and would not beexpected. But his appearance there could not on that account be takenamiss. Whatever enmities there might be, or whatever perils, he wouldface them. He got a cab therefore and had himself driven to AbchurchLane.
The clerks were hanging about doing nothing, as though it were aholiday. The dinner, the election, and the rumour together hadaltogether demoralized them. But some of them at least were there,and they showed no signs of absolute insubordination. "Mr. Grendallhas not been here?" he asked. No; Mr. Grendall had not been there;but Mr. Cohenlupe was in Mr. Grendall's room. At this moment hehardly desired to see Mr. Cohenlupe. That gentleman was privy tomany of his transactions, but was by no means privy to them all.Mr. Cohenlupe knew that the estate at Pickering had been purchased,and knew that it had been mortgaged. He knew also what had becomeof the money which had so been raised. But he knew nothing of thecircumstances of the purchase, although he probably surmised thatMelmotte had succeeded in getting the title-deeds on credit, withoutpaying the money. He was afraid that he could hardly see Cohenlupeand hold his tongue, and that he could not speak to him withoutdanger. He and Cohenlupe might have to stand in a dock together;and Cohenlupe had none of his spirit. But the clerks would think,and would talk, were he to leave the office without seeing his oldfriend. He went therefore into his own room, and called to Cohenlupeas he did so.
"Ve didn't expect you here to-day," said the member for Staines.
"Nor did I expect to come. But there isn't much to do at Westminsterwhile the ballot is going on; so I came up, just to look at theletters. The dinner went off pretty well yesterday, eh?"
"Uncommon;--nothing better. Vy did the Lord Mayor stay away,Melmotte?"
"Because he's an ass and a cur," said Mr. Melmotte with an assumedair of indignation. "Alf and his people had got hold of him. Therewas ever so much fuss about it at first,--whether he would accept theinvitation. I say it was an insult to the City to take it and not tocome. I shall be even with him some of these days."
"Things will go on just the same as usual, Melmotte?"
"Go on. Of course they'll go. What's to hinder them?"
"There's ever so much been said," whispered Cohenlupe.
"Said;--yes," ejaculated Melmotte very loudly. "You're not such afool, I hope, as to believe every word you hear. You'll have enoughto believe, if you do."
"There's no knowing vat anybody does know, and vat anybody does notknow," said Cohenlupe.
"Look you here, Cohenlupe,"--and now Melmotte also sank his voice toa whisper,--"keep your tongue in your mouth; go about just as usual,and say nothing. It's all right. There has been some heavy pulls uponus."
"Oh dear, there has indeed!"
"But any paper with my name to it will come right."
"That's nothing;--nothing at all," said Cohenlupe.
"And there is nothing;--nothing at all! I've bought some property andhave paid for it; and I have bought some, and have not yet paid forit. There's no fraud in that."
"No, no,--nothing in that."
"You hold your tongue, and go about your business. I'm going to thebank now." Cohenlupe had been very low in spirits, and was still lowin spirits; but he was somewhat better after the visit of the greatman to the City.
Mr. Melmotte was as good as his word and walked straight to the bank.He kept two accounts at different banks, one for his business, andone for his private affairs. The one he now entered was that whichkept what we may call his domestic account. He walked straightthrough, after his old fashion, to the room behind the bank in whichsat the manager and the manager's one clerk, and stood upon the rugbefore the fire-place just as though nothing had happened,--or asnearly as though nothing had happened as was within the compass ofhis powers. He could not quite do it. In keeping up an appearanceintended to be natural he was obliged to be somewhat milder than hiswont. The manager did not behave nearly as well as he did, and theclerks manifestly betrayed their emotion. Melmotte saw that it wasso;--but he had expected it, and had come there on purpose to "put itdown."
"We hardly expected to see you in the City to-day, Mr. Melmotte."
"And I didn't expect to see myself here. But it always happens thatwhen one expects that there's most to be done, there's nothing tobe done at all. They're all at work down at Westminster, balloting;but as I can't go on voting for myself, I'm of no use. I've been atCovent Garden this morning, making a stump speech, and if all thatthey say there is true, I haven't much to be afraid of."
"And the dinner went off pretty well?" asked the manager.
"Very well, indeed. They say the Emperor liked it better thananything that has been done for him yet." This was a brilliant flashof imagination. "For a friend to dine with me every day, you know,I should prefer somebody who had a little more to say for himself.But then, perhaps, you know, if you or I were in China we shouldn'thave much to say for ourselves;--eh?" The manager acceded to thisproposition. "We
had one awful disappointment. His lordship from overthe way didn't come."
"The Lord Mayor, you mean."
"The Lord Mayor didn't come! He was frightened at the lastmoment;--took it into his head that his authority in the City wassomehow compromised. But the wonder was that the dinner went onwithout him." Then Melmotte referred to the purport of his call therethat day. He would have to draw large cheques for his private wants."You don't give a dinner to an Emperor of China for nothing, youknow." He had been in the habit of over-drawing on his privateaccount,--making arrangements with the manager. But now, in themanager's presence, he drew a regular cheque on his business accountfor a large sum, and then, as a sort of afterthought, paid in theL250 which he had received from Mr. Broune on account of the moneywhich Sir Felix had taken from Marie.
"There don't seem much the matter with him," said the manager, whenMelmotte had left the room.
"He brazens it out, don't he?" said the senior clerk. But the feelingof the room after full discussion inclined to the opinion that therumours had been a political manoeuvre. Nevertheless, Mr. Melmottewould not now have been allowed to overdraw at the present moment.
The Way We Live Now Page 65